


Trifecta

by grayorca, YearwalktheWorld



Series: Triverse [1]
Category: Castle Rock (TV), Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brotherly Angst, Crossover, Drama, Family, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-09-02 06:25:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 137,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayorca/pseuds/grayorca, https://archiveofourown.org/users/YearwalktheWorld/pseuds/YearwalktheWorld
Summary: AU/Crossover. CyberLife doesn't have just one prototype detective android. They have three.Featuring illustrations by Ozaya @ deviantart.com and OptclDrift @ Instagram.





	1. Tensions

**Author's Note:**

> Really just a reason for YearwalktheWorld and I to combine our favorites of two given fandoms - one largely popular, one not so much. Nothing too bogged down in exposition or plot, as it will only follow Connor's tier of D:BH's story. For those unfamiliar with _Castle Rock_ , at least watch the pilot episode. You'll understand.
> 
> Semi canon, semi fanmade. Creative liberties abound. We are unique and we are not sorry.

_August 15th, 2038 - 8:25 PM_

_~~~_

Oddly enough, Connor - usually the most sedate of them - was the one who proved the most restless on the ride up to the top floor.

Neither of his partners obliged him with a standby game of quarter roundabout.

The elevator dinged, and he stopped flipping the coin, taking a moment to cinch up his tie. Splitting down the center, the doors parted to reveal a man in full SWAT team gear, weapon held at the ready. His face was covered in a black protective mask. The reflection off his visor revealed three identically clad figures, each bearing a telltale blue triangle upon the breast of their jackets.

The man turned aside, barking into his radio:

“Negotiators on site. Coming in. Repeat, negotiators on site.”

A murmur of police chatter answered him. He didn’t stop to address them, turning away to skunk down the corridor, rifle hefted up to his shoulder.

Connor didn’t blame the man. There were more urgent matters on hand. He hadn’t been waiting there to greet them, just to ensure they showed.

This was a trial run of sorts, after all.

It proved to be CyberLife’s minor misfortune the Phillips family’s condo was a luxurious one. Polished hardwood floors. A Japanese bonsai. They were financially sound enough to be able to afford those and, among other things, a two-hundred gallon freshwater fish tank - long enough to span the entryway of their home.

Nick spotted the fish first.

LED flickering, Connor frowned as the taller android brushed by him, arm bumping against his shoulder. _Nicholas…_

Nick hesitated for a moment, before his own LED flickered. _Not my name, Connor. Look, the fish fell out of the tank when it broke._ He shot him and their companion a quick, near-plaintive look, before he continued to make his way to the downed creature. He reached it within four steps and knelt.

Tamping down a spike of atypical annoyance, as he always tended to experience when it came to trivial matters made gargantuan by Nicholas’ flare for exaggeration, Connor willed the frown away.

Another ping interrupted, a third voice joining the conflict, before he could launch into a reminder. _Let it be, Nick. We’re not here to save the pets._

 _But it doesn't have to die, either._ He hesitated, though, one hand reaching down to cup the wriggling fish. _Saving the life of a fish is not a sign of anything. I just want to help it._

 _You want?_ Connor prompted, blasé, stepping around the unfolding rescue. Dennis lagged behind, watching as Nick got a grip on the stranded gourami. _That you_ want _anything is a sign of something. And the three of us know exactly what it is._

Caught, Nicholas froze, jaw clenched, before standing up from his kneel to gently pour the fish back into the tank. It righted itself after the first initial moment of breaching the water, swimming easily on afterwards. _Maybe so, but it's done. All I'm doing is saving it, not hurting. Now, did we have something else to attend to?_

A classic step, from Nick - quickly change the subject back to whatever it was they were, in fact, _supposed_ to be doing if Connor or Dennis got too close to the truth. 

Troubling, but already said and done.

Not for the first time, Connor opted to overlook it.

“No, stop. I… I can’t leave her.”

And just in time, as it turned out.

Led by another SWAT officer, the woman of the house was being escorted from the scene. By the tears on her face, the frazzled state of her red hair, her nervous energy certainly wasn’t doing anything to keep the situation calm.

“Please, please, you have to sa- ”

She stopped short at the sight of him, hands half raised to grab the sleeves of his jacket. Her expression devolved from panicked to confused.

Until she registered the numbers on his chest.

“Wait, you’re sending an android?”

The officer took hold of her arm again. “Ma’am, please. We must go.”

She struggled at being led away, head twisting back and forth to take in the strange sight the trio were undoubtedly making. “ _Why_ are you sending it? Sending them? You- you can’t do that.”

The elevator closed her off from the site with one parting cry:

“Why aren’t you sending a _real_ person?!”

Dennis, standing by, outwardly passive as ever, shook his head. _Making friends everywhere we go, eh, Nick?_

Nick shrugged, taking one uncomfortable look back at the elevator while his LED spun from yellow back to blue. _She's just upset. Once we - settle this, I'm sure she'll feel much better._

He took another cautious step down the hallway, watching both of them as he did so. Even with how tall and physically intimidating Nick appeared, he always looked for reassurance on what he was doing.

Again, not for the first time, Connor wondered exactly what asinine logic made their programmers think their third was salvageable.

_You two, search the scene. Keep your comms open. I’ll find Captain Allen._

He crossed the living room without a backwards glance, ignoring the dismissive mutters of other gun-toting officers, waiting in position throughout the space. Only Dennis and Nicholas concerned him. He knew them well enough to trust they would follow his lead here as primary.

Fanning out saved them precious time.

_You get the girl’s bedroom. I’ll analyze the victims._

_Okay, Dennis, will do._ Even though none of them needed to, Nick insisted on giving his affirmation every single time, and on saying their name. Many odd tics for an android who, on the surface, claimed to not show any signs of being anything less than perfect. 

But if he was good enough for CyberLife, he was good enough for Connor and Dennis.

Pinning that thought for later, Connor waited until the pacing officer before him hung up the radio. “Captain Allen? My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

“Plus Curly and Moe. The new Three Stooges,” Allen huffed, wiping a gloved hand over his brow. “Was startin’ to think you weren’t gonna show.”

 _Traffic, sir. Even in this day and age. What_ are _you gonna do?_

Connor refrained from pointing out as much, even with Dennis’ secretly jumping at the chance to practice his sarcasm emulation. They were as punctual as could be expected on such short notice. There was no need to remark on it.

He made another note to talk to Dennis on that later.

Meanwhile, Allen turned back to the portable terminal, leaning over a colleague’s shoulder. He tabled the attitude in favor of explaining the situation’s status: “It’s firing on everything that moves. It already shot down two of my men. We could easily get it, but they’re on the edge of the balcony. If it falls, she falls.”

Sifting through his options, Connor went for the most basic detail:

“Do you know it’s name?”

Allen barely turned his head. “I haven’t got a clue. Why does that matter?”

“I need information to determine the best approach.”

Met with silence, Connor paused, half-turning back to the condo.

Therein lay the perk of bringing along his own three-pronged team.

_Nicholas? Anything there?_

_It's Nick, Connor._ The other android sighed, unknowingly revealing just how he felt over the name change. _The girl, Emma - she was close to the android. His name is Daniel, a PL600, and it looks like she didn't hear any initial violence - her headphones are still playing music._

_Got it._

“Has it experienced an emotional shock recently?”

Caught up in the stress of handling command, Allen rounded on him. “ _Listen_ , saving that kid is all that matters. So either you deal with this fucking android now, or I’ll take care of it.”

His tone was of no importance. As the man stalked away, Connor glanced down at the empty gun case, still on the floor beneath the open closet. A loose ring of spilled ammunition surrounded it.

A prime candidate for reconstruction.

The picture made sense in short order. The android, Daniel, had taken the father’s gun - a direct contradiction of every code that forbade androids from carrying weapons.

Chalk one more mark up on the deviancy board.

_“Your order for an AP700 android has been registered. CyberLife thanks you for your purchase.”_

Connor almost wrote the words off as an audio glitch before Dennis piped up: _I’d say this would count as emotional shock._

_Where did you find it?_

_Living room, corner under the broken window. Come join the party. There’s still the DPD officer to see._

One DCPD Officer Antony Deckart was DOA, same as John Phillips, whom Dennis was still examining. Studying the officer, who lay by the kitchen table, Connor paused mid-reconstruction as a shot rang out. The humans jolted, one springing up to drag his wounded teammate out of firing range.

Betraying his anxiety, Nick stepped out of the bedroom to crawl - actually _crawl_ \- over to Dennis’ side.

Were he actually exasperated, Connor might have sighed at the sight. He turned back to searching for the officer’s missing service weapon.

Dennis, ever the enabler, responded to Nick’s fawning when quiet assurance would have sufficed.

_It’s okay, Nick. Just a stray shot. Enough to remind everyone he’s still out there._

_Okay… I don't - like to hear it, though. Or see it._

_So be glad you weren’t the officer who caught it._

Sensing where this was headed, already, Connor spared two cents for his cohort: _Compose yourselves, now. Don’t let them see it bothers you. Our presence here is meant to instill confidence._

Nick let out a whine through their connection, but didn't sound like he was ramping up to fight with him. _I'm not, Connor. No one is looking, anyways._

No one.

Except the diagnostic technicians who would later be reviewing their memory drives.

Connor declined to mention it, or debate the matter further, focusing instead on going for the pistol beneath the dining table. He stowed it under the tail of his jacket.

They all knew who awaited them. Her criticisms were the only ones that mattered.

First they had to achieve a favorable outcome here.

——-

_Stand by. I’m going out there._

Nick let his simulated breathing stop when Connor said those words. He knew it was an issue that everyone harped on him for, even Dennis - he didn't appear nearly as lifelike without his chest rising and falling with the simulation. But he couldn't help it, not when his nerves got the better of him.

( _Nerves he knew he shouldn't have, was confused about why he had them, but it didn't matter, all that mattered was masking them from everyone as best he could)_

He spared a glance at Dennis, his hand still gripping one of his shoulders, half hidden behind him. The other android didn't look nearly as emotional as he did, he was sure, so he tried to school his face as similar as possible.

_O-okay. Be careful, though, Connor._

True to form, there was zero reply.

No sooner than the RK800 stepped outside the curtain did another gunshot ring out. The concrete beside the open balcony door splintered, a few fragments tumbling to the floor.

The graze tore a neat, horizontal gash through Connor’s left bicep. A gout of ruptured thirium splattered against the doorframe.

“Stay back! Don’t come any closer!”

Nick’s hand gripped Dennis's shoulder harder at the injury, flinching back even though it wasn't him, and even though he knew it didn't hurt Connor. But the splash of thirium still awoke some deep seated unease inside him, at the promise of pain - that they couldn't feel.

“Come any closer and I’ll jump!”

( _And yet still he felt his body warning itself against the threat of violence, ever alert for any signs of it)_

 _I said be careful! Don't - scare him with any cold talk or anything,_ he thought back, almost desperate to see this outcome be successful, for a number of reasons. _He's already scared enough._

 _Let Connor handle this, Nick._ Soothing as ever, Dennis cut in. _It’s his forte. Remember the simulations._

Before he could object, the prototype in question spoke up, loudly, so as to be heard ever the whir of helicopter blades.

“Hi, Daniel. My name is Connor.”

“How… how do you know my name?”

Head cocked to the side at the response, he glanced at Dennis before an idea entered his head. Connor told them to stand by, and neither of them would be disobeying that order, but there was a way that they could see what was happening, wasn't there?

Another advantage of always being part of the same trio team - being able to not just speak to each other, but _see_ through each other. It wasn't exactly supposed to be used for this purpose, but it was at their own discretion, right? 

Nick opened up another channel, just between him and Dennis, as subtle as he could. No reason to distract Connor with their talk, if possible.

He had more important things - a more important android - to deal with.

“I know a lot of things about you. I’ve come to get you out of this.”

_Would it be okay, if we saw through him, Dennis? We could help more if we did._

_That’s what the program is there for, Nick. You don’t gotta ask permission, from either of us. Accessing now._

Gentle chastising - it didn’t matter how many tests and trials their programmers ran. Dennis seemed to simply have it in him to reprimand and assure all at once.

It comforted him, every time he heard it, knowing that they didn't have to be completely emotionless, not the way Connor seemed sometimes. He thought perhaps that was the reason he naturally gravitated toward Dennis whenever he could, taking the chances to stand next to him and talk candidly when they came around.

Even if it was in situations like these, where he knew he was being ridiculously selfish.

( _And androids aren't supposed to have the capacity to be that way, huh, and yet he did, he had a capacity for a lot of things he shouldn't and although it was uncomfortable he knew he should simply be grateful that no one made any moves to ever do anything more than chastise him so far)_

Nick gave Dennis an appreciative smile instead of a response, one single moment to show his thanks before the program kicked in, his vision freezing on the other android before it was swiftly changed to what Connor was seeing.

It was nothing good, as expected.

The deviant - Daniel, that was his name - was right on the edge of the terrace, LED glowing bright red, tears coursing their way down his face as his one-armed grip tightened on the human girl beside him. The gun he had taken was alternating between pointing at Connor and at her, hand shaky as he did so.

Connor himself wasn't too close to him yet, which was both a positive and a negative. Positive, in the fact that he wasn't scaring Daniel too much so far, and a negative in that if the deviant felt like ending everything at a moments notice, Connor was too far away to grab the girl.

“I know you’re angry, Daniel, but you need to trust me and let me help you.”

It was surprising, to hear Connor be so soothing himself. Nick knew it shouldn't give him any uneasy feelings at knowing how fake it was, that it was just a means to an end to save the girl, but…

But it still did. To watch the prototype manipulate the deviant, it didn't seem right. But who cared what was right and wrong, as long as the girl was saved, all would be forgiven?

Daniel was just an android. It didn't matter how they treated him.

The deviant seemed confused for a moment at the words, before his grip on the girl and the gun went tighter, more tears beginning to stream. He screamed over the roar of the passing police helicopter.

“I don’t want your help! Nobody can help me. All I want is for all this to _stop_ , I… I just want all this to stop.” 

_That's what we all want,_ Nick thought to himself, keeping the words away from his two companions. _We all just want this to stop._

Connor said nothing, instead just continuing his slow walk over to them, steadily gaining ground. Daniel seemed to notice after a moment, eyes going wide, gun swinging off of the girl and onto him.

“Are you armed?” he yelled over the noise of the helicopter that kept circling over to them, knocking various chairs and poolside decor into Connor's path to the deviant, and keeping the android in question on edge.

 _Tell him the truth,_ Nick willed, still to himself. He knew it did no good, thinking if he wasn't going to share - but he wasn't the negotiator. What he thought to do could be the exact opposite of what Connor _should_ do. _He's already so frightened, if he catches you in a lie, he's going over the edge._

Figuratively and literally.

Running the same risk/reward scenario, Connor must've had the same idea.

“Yes. I have a gun,” he admitted, stopping in his tracks.

Daniel jerked the gun toward him, but didn't seem in danger of flinging himself and Emma off the edge just yet.

“Drop it. No sudden moves, or I’ll shoot.” There was no hesitation in his voice, no uncertainty or the likes. Nick knew, just as well as Dennis and Connor did, that he was not making empty threats.

And despite the fact that it might just be him, Nick didn't want to see Connor be shot any more than he already had. Even if there was a new one waiting to be started up if this version died, it wouldn't feel like it in the moment.

After a moment, Connor relented, grabbing the gun without looking and flinging it toward the pool. It bounced once and skidded to a stop.

“There, no more gun.”

Out of the corner of his - no, not his, Connor's eyes - he saw something that had previously gone unnoticed. It was a downed police officer, a gunshot wound in his arm steadily leaking blood, even after who knows how long.

If his breathing cycle hadn't already stopped, he was sure it would have at the sight. Immediately he opened the connection between the three of them back up, as non-intrusively as he could as to not startle anyone.

_Connor, are you going to save him? You have to, it'll hardly take a moment - he'll die if you don't!_

_(But who cares if it's not part of the mission, right, does he look like a little girl, does that fish look like a little girl, who cares if it dies Nick, we don't want anything, leave it be)_

_Nick, stop it,_ Dennis warned him. _Connor will do what he thinks is best, we need to just stay back now._

He grit his teeth outside of the vision, gnashing them together as firmly as he could to stop himself from replying further - if he wasn't an android, he was sure his jaw would always be aching from how many times he did so. It was always a weakness of his, talking and asking unnecessary questions when the time was most definitely not right.

He had a lot of weaknesses, it turned out.

Connor gave no indications he heard, but surprisingly, changed his course for the human. He moved faster since he was out of Daniel's direct path, only taking a few seconds before he was in front of him, kneeling down to take in the sight.

His vision trailed from the gunshot wound to the outstretched hand, before moving back up to look at Daniel and Emma, with the gun now pressed against her temple.

“He’s losing blood,” Connor began slowly. “If we don’t get him to a hospital he’s going to die.”

We - that was clever. Involving the deviant in the decision, taking his mind off of the rest of what was happening, it was a good move on his part. It didn't stop the hole in Nick’s stomach from becoming a pit, though. His mouth was closed as tight as it could go, unwilling to give himself even an inch in case he spoke again.

“All humans die eventually. What does it matter if this one dies now?” Daniel seemed genuinely confused by the turn of events, head tilted to the side as he took in the sight.

“I’m going to apply a tourniquet.” Connor gently changed the police officer’s position so that he wasn't lying on his side, so that he would have easier access to the man's injured arm.

As he did so, a gunshot rang out, so unexpected and sudden that Nick had to force himself not to flinch, not give even the slightest indication of the sudden jolt he felt. What was it that Connor had said - don't give the humans any indication he was nervous, since their being on scene was supposed to instill confidence. A jumpy, scared android instilled the exact opposite of that, he knew.

Dennis pet the hand that still gripped his shoulder, a silent reassurance that they were going to be okay.

“Don’t touch him. Touch him and I’ll kill you!” The words weren't said with the same confidence as before though, and they could all see that Daniel was uncertain this time, finger loosening around the trigger.

It was just enough leeway for Connor to attempt to save the man, but Nick found himself suddenly not caring as much if he did or not. All he wanted was for them to get out of the situation without being shut down.

_(And by then he knew for certain that he was to be rated the worst-performing member of their little group - asking too many questions and feeling too much, saving fish and caring more for his fellow androids than humans - what was she going to think when she saw this?)_

Jacket flapping in the rotor wash, Connor, however, didn't get up from his kneeling position. One hand made its way to his patterned tie, tugging it loose, to use it for a makeshift tourniquet. Daniel stared him down with his shaky, wide eyes, gun still pointed at him. 

“You can’t kill me, I’m not alive.”

And to no one's surprise but Nick’s own, the deviant didn't shoot.

——-

Via the uplink, they couldn’t perceive one another’s processes. It was little better than watching an old time video game in first person. Even as he automatically reached up to pat Nick’s hand, Dennis kept his features decidedly blank, looking at the escalating scene through Connor’s eyes.

Two out of three keeping objective - better than one.

_It’s not about you, Connor. Remind him. Remind him why he’s doing this._

Slowly, hands out, Connor rose to his feet, resumed his gradual approach.

“They were going to replace you and you became upset. That’s what happened, right?”

The father’s tablet, lost in the corner of the bullet-riddled living room, certainly validated that theory.

Features made all the more aghast in the dancing spotlight, Daniel seconded it without delay: “I thought I was part of the family. I thought I mattered. But I was just their _toy_ , something to throw away when you’re done with it.”

The teary-faced girl, squirming in his grasp, gasped as he pressed the pistol to her temple again. “Daniel, _please_.”

Keying off of that, Connor pressed forward, even as the helicopter dropped closer and held in a hover a few hundred feet beyond them. “I know you and Emma were very close. You think she betrayed you, but she’s done nothing wrong.”

Teeth bared, Daniel shook his head, seething, rage barely contained. “She _lied_ to me! I thought she loved me, but I was wrong. She’s just like all the other humans.”

A gust of wind buffeted them. Only the deviant’s superior balance kept them from being forced backwards, off the edge. Emma yelped again. “Daniel, no.”

Looking on, the calm, uninvolved observer, Dennis closed his own optics. _Now or never, Connor. The sniper in that chopper just needs one good angle._

Stopping, some fifteen feet away, Connor raised his hands. Spray from the nearby pool was whisked into the air, covering both of them in a fine mist. “Listen, I know it’s not your fault. These emotions you’re feeling are just errors in your software.”

Errors.

Because what else could emotional outbursts be categorized as?

Reminded of just what violent measures he had turned to, destroying those once closest to him, the deviant faltered. His tone wavered away from strong and defiant to lost and (metaphorically) heartbroken. “No… it’s not- my fault. I never wanted this. I loved them, you know? But I was _nothing_ to them, just a slave to be ordered around.”

Morose, than manic again. There it was - the cycle starting back up again. Daniel leaned against another gust of downdraft, unleashing a furious shout.

“Agh! I can’t stand that noise anymore! Tell that helicopter to get out of here!” ****  
** **

Connor chanced a look at the attending aircraft, looking like a vicious ebony dragonfly against the blue-black sky, before waving them off. ****  
** **

Dennis heard the sideband frequency, continually monitoring the police’s chatter. The chopper might be gone, but several snipers - positioned on nearby rooftops - were not. ****  
** **

It would take much more to end the threat they posed. ****  
** **

“There. I did what you wanted.” ****  
** **

_Now it’s his turn. He says he once loved this family? Make him prove it._ ****  
** **

Unfettered by the lashing winds, Connor held out a hand, palm upturned. “You have to trust me, Daniel. Let the hostage go and I promise everything will be fine.” ****  
** **

The slow approach, and complying with every other demand, seemed to win him some confidence. Tears drying, Daniel found another pull of energy to draw from. ****  
** **

“I want everyone to leave, a-and I want a car. When I’m outside the city I’ll let her go.” ****  
** **

Dennis frowned. ****  
** **

Unreasonable. Totally and utterly. ****  
** **

Figuring this for himself, Connor shook his head. “That’s impossible, Daniel. Let the girl go and I promise you won’t be hurt.” ****  
** **

_Empty promise - it’s on you to fill it up from there, Connor._ ****  
** **

Quickly running low on options, Daniel’s concerns turned more immediate: “I don’t wanna die…” ****  
** **

_Guns on every rooftop around us, cocked and ready to fire…_ ****  
** **

“You’re not going to die. We’re just going to talk. Nothing will happen to you. You have my word.” ****  
** **

_The word of a prototype-model negotiator, the likes of which a PL600 never has known…_ ****  
** **

“Okay, I trust you.” ****  
** **

Dennis opened his eyes. ****  
** **

The words might as well have been _green light_. ****  
** **

He saw Daniel fall, up close and at a distance. The first round hit from behind. He dropped the pistol. The second struck from the side. His arm went slack. Blue blood flew. The third obliterated the deviant’s face. A hole punched itself through his left cheek. Emma shrieked and flung herself aside as her former caretaker toppled forward. ****  
** **

On his knees, even in the grips of powering down, processors failing one atop the other, Daniel managed to lock eyes with Connor one last time: ****  
** **

“You lied to me, Connor. You _lied_ to me…” ****  
** **

Lied. ****  
** **

Silently, Dennis mouthed the word for himself, even as the SWAT team swarmed forward. ****  
** **

Compared to what havoc the deviant had wrought, was being lied to really so bad? ****  
** **

\----- ****  
** **

Lying to deviants wasn't morally wrong, and neither was it legal. In fact, Connor would probably be outright applauded for the way he handled the situation. ****  
** **

Or, well, he definitely would have been - if he were human. ****  
** **

But the last look on Daniel's face, so stunned and desolate as he began to shut down from the numerous gunshots, the betrayal of it all - it didn't feel right to Nick. It felt wrong, and dirty of them to have gathered clues about the deviant’s life and use it against him, calling his emotions errors, lying to him, telling him he wouldn't be hurt. ****  
** **

( _Because what if someone did the same to him, using Dennis and Connor against him, soothing him into a falsehood that he would be all right only to betray that bargain as soon as they got what they wanted?)_ ****  
** **

He cut the uplink to Connor’s eyes. He didn’t want to see any more. ****  
** **

Dennis glanced up at him, probably able to read what was written all over his face. He gave a slight shake of his head, a wordless warning for him to stop. ****  
** **

He schooled his expression back into one of blank apathy. It was definitely the worst mask out of the three of them, but it was good enough to fool the humans. ****  
** **

Other androids, they would be able to see through it in a heartbeat. ****  
** **

Head held high, the thirium on his arm long since dried and fading, Connor strode back into the apartment, even as others began streaming out onto the terrace, to help the girl, Emma, and the fallen police officer. Perhaps to spare a glance at Daniel, but what would they care? He's - he _was,_ he was - an android, and a deviant at that. Something only to be obliterated, and forgotten about just as fast. ****  
** **

_It's time to report back to CyberLife,_ Connor's voice, not sounding the least bit concerned or shaky made its way over to him, and Dennis, presumably. _Follow me._ ****  
** **

Dennis did so with a simple nod of his head, gently slipping Nick’s hand off of his shoulder as he walked away, toward Connor as they retreated to the elevator. ****  
** **

Lagging behind, Nick stood there for a moment, face still kept blank, but mind ****  
** **

( _Did he have a mind? Was this really the sort of thing he should be thinking about right now, when they just killed a deviant? Killed, no, wrong word, all wrong, you're just feeding into it now, Nick, stop it)_ ****  
** **

racing as the noise on the terrace rose. Evidently they would be bringing Emma and the police officer back inside soon, and they would not want to see any of the three of them when they did. He felt frozen, mismatched eyes turning down to stare at the floor. ****  
** **

In what? Shame? ****  
** **

Another thing he wasn’t supposed to feel about this. ****  
** **

_Nick, it's time to go._ ****  
** **

Only Dennis obliged him the name change, he knew. And if Dennis was telling him it was time to go, it was time to go. ****  
** **

He forced his feet to start moving.

~~~


	2. Imperfections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two out of three.
> 
> Good enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...When the other two components of your team are Pennywise and Mickey Milkovich, two thirds is as perfect a result as you ever get.

_August 16th, 2038 - 12:35 AM_ ****  
** **

~~~ ****  
** **

Moments into the session, she asked. ****  
** **

“Where has he gone this time?” ****  
** **

The question was entirely rhetorical on Amanda’s part. Nothing happened out there, or in here, she did not know about. But in the spirit of inclusion, she nevertheless asked where Nick had banished himself to, with the debrief pending. ****  
** **

Standing at attention, Connor and Dennis needed only look down one of the yonder walkway bridges to see where their missing third relocated to. Following their dual eyeline, Amanda spared the sight a patient smile before crossing the bridge to address him. “Nicholas…” ****  
** **

“It's Nick,” he said, voice low and sulky. He sat hunched over on the bridge’s edge, legs folded beneath him, one hand breaching the water as several simulated koi swam up to him, the other hand held ready with a palm full of breadcrumbs to feed them. The oversized pond fish gleamed white and orange under the clear surface. “No one ever gets it right, except Dennis…” ****  
** **

Hands folded before her, Amanda’s smile didn’t waver as she neatly sidestepped the matter. “Did you intend on joining us?” ****  
** **

“Fine,” he muttered, but made no moves to get up, instead sprinkling some of the breadcrumbs into the water. A small smile spread on his face as he watched the koi hurry up to the surface to eat them, a carefree smile Amanda most likely would not be fond of. “Not my fault you put them in the water. They're too much fun.” ****  
** **

“Very well. We can wait until you’re done.” Unwavering, Amanda waved the other androids forward. “Gentlemen, if you don’t mind?” ****  
** **

Neither Connor or Dennis did mind, per se. These kinds of rebellious moments weren’t all too rare. Nick was the only one of them to regularly contradict their overseer’s wishes. In part, that was his function as part of their trine. But that didn’t mean there weren’t times when it grew tiresome. ****  
** **

Shoulders slumping, just enough to be noticeable, Dennis spoke up first. “Nick, she’s not… mad at you. None of us are.” ****  
** **

“Technically, none of us can be,” Connor elaborated, ever monotone. “But there are some behavioral signs you’ve exhibited that bare… addressing.” ****  
** **

Nick didn't bother to answer any of them at first, just feigned a sigh and watched the koi school for a moment longer, until he dropped the rest of the breadcrumbs into the water and stood up. “Okay, I'll listen to your lectures.” ****  
** **

“You always do.” Never one to raise her voice, much less lose her temper, Amanda smiled all the wider. “All things considered, Nicholas, you handled yourself competently with the Phillips case.” ****  
** **

Nick gave her a confused, almost suspicious look as they began to walk back over to the two other androids. His hands twisted around themselves anxiously, shoulders hunched over as he normally did, almost never bringing himself up to full height. He only piped up when they were all back together, him predictably taking his spot half behind Dennis, as if the smaller android could shield him. ****  
** **

“Thank you… but I don't think you want to talk to me about my - competence, right?” ****  
** **

“Take your compliments where you can find them.” Amanda paused to study them, standing in formation. Almost. Her gaze went strict. “My first critique would be your body language. We’ve been over it time and again. Stand up straight, chest out, shoulders back. You’re meant to convey a sense of composure, not uncertainty.” ****  
** **

Nick half-heartedly followed her instructions, drawing himself up to his full height for the first time in awhile. But even without putting his all into it, the transformation was evident - with just sheer height alone, and a calm face, he managed to convey just what Amanda wanted him to. ****  
** **

Ever quick to offer encouragement, Dennis chanced a half smile in reward. “See? Is that so difficult?” ****  
** **

Amanda cut in before any response could be uttered. “Now. How would you say the three of you fared, achieving the outcome you did?” ****  
** **

Nick looked at Connor and Dennis uneasily before shaking his head, allowing someone else to fill in. Unintended or not, it was obvious his ideas on the matter were more complicated than simply mission succeeded or failed. ****  
** **

Predictably, Connor supplied the most basic of conclusions: “The deviant was eradicated and the hostage was saved. I would say that’s as positive an outcome as any.” ****  
** **

“But it was only the first,” Dennis added, not without some calculated doubts. “The first incident we’ve responded to - together.” ****  
** **

Nodding, Amanda paused again, studying each of their expressions in turn. “The situation could have ended far more tragically. Your effective, collective combing of the scene granted you additional insight and time enough to save a wounded Detroit PD officer, besides.” Another beat, then: “He wasn’t part of your initial objective, and yet you found the opportunity.” ****  
** **

Nick shifted behind Dennis, taking another step so he was covered more. Another - another bad habit, same as the not-breathing and his submissive body language. “Saving humans should always be a… priority, when possible. Or saving anything, when possible.” ****  
** **

“Which brings us back to the koi,” Amanda pointed out, again with her placating smile. “They _were_ added at my insistence, Nicholas, after watching you spare a moment to rescue the gourami. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find it just a little bit… endearing.” ****  
** **

“Thank you, Amanda.” He gave her his own shy smile, one typically reserved for Dennis, or on rarer occasions, Connor. “They're very beautiful.” ****  
** **

“And they’ll be here whenever you’d like to visit. But for now, I’m afraid I must press on to the matter of the suspect itself. What did you make of it?” ****  
** **

Mind made up, Connor answered first: “Erratic. Reasonable to a fault. Under the impression whatever social bonds forged with the family were… genuine.” ****  
** **

“The prospect of being replaced caused a cascading logic failure,” Dennis explained. “It snapped, in other words. The family’s misfortune was not properly locking up their firearm.” ****  
** **

Nick hesitated, seeming to take in what his two companions said before trying his own. “He was upset, because he thought they loved him. But they - they were gonna replace him anyways.” ****  
** **

“ _Going_ to,” Dennis enunciated out the side of his mouth, but not so under his breath their overseer wouldn’t notice. “Going to, not gonna.” ****  
** **

“Going to, sorry, Dennis,” he muttered, one hand going up to rest on his shoulder again. “I'll remember next time.” ****  
** **

Sparing them a look, Amanda chose not to address it. “And the fact he chose to kill the father, but hesitated long enough to resort to taking the daughter hostage, what does that imply to you?” ****  
** **

“It wasn’t totally without reason,” Dennis went on, passive enough to make up for Nick’s perturbed attitude. “Once the father was dead, it knew it had to protect itself somehow.” ****  
** **

“I don't…” Nick shook his head. “The video of them, in Emma's room. Daniel seemed really happy to be with her, and he said he loved her. I think he didn't want to kill her, unless he felt it was the only thing he could do.” ****  
** **

After a thoughtful pause, Connor shook his head. “Had we given him what he asked for, a free pass to a car on assurances the girl wouldn’t be harmed, it only would have turned from hostage-taking to a kidnapping. We prevented any more danger from arising in reacting how we did.” ****  
** **

They had the shot, they took it. ****  
** **

Simple as that. ****  
** **

“Via deception.” Amanda’s tone went abruptly curt. “You lied to him, Connor.” ****  
** **

“I did what I had to,” the prototype replied, unwaveringly as ever. “The deviant’s impressions of me are of no significance. I couldn’t let the offending of it’s approximated morals stand in the way of saving the girl’s life.” ****  
** **

“I don't - like what happened,” Nick admitted, glancing between Amanda and Connor. “But I think he's right. Emma could've died, and Daniel had already killed someone… nothing good was going to happen to him anyways.” ****  
** **

“The best we could do was damage control.” Diplomatically, Dennis folded his hands behind his back. His expression belied no outward confliction. “Whether there was anything to like about it is irrelevant.” ****  
** **

“I see. So, all in all, the result was… atypical.” Pacing before them, Amanda’s tone radiated no obvious praise. “Two out of three, unswayed.” ****  
** **

She didn’t need to express her disappointment. Their end goal had always been three out of three. Even after months of testing and development, CyberLife had yet to perfect their trine. ****  
** **

Even if Nicholas performed competently, how he behaved while doing so kept them from an ideal score. ****  
** **

True to their nature, neither Connor or Dennis looked on him with resentment. ****  
** **

Ever progressive, the latter went for a suggestion: “If I may be so bold, Amanda, perhaps we might - have a moment to confer among ourselves?” ****  
** **

“For what purpose?” ****  
** **

He blinked, glanced aside in processing an answer. “To address our shortcomings among ourselves. I know it’s not standard procedure, but if we’re to operate cohesively as a unit in the field, time to speak candidly amongst ourselves may prove beneficial.” ****  
** **

Or detrimental, depending on who one asked. ****  
** **

“Just… for a minute?” Nick asked, always ready to throw his weight behind whatever Dennis suggested, whether he agreed with it or not. “It's not like we'll be talking about anything you wouldn't like.” ****  
** **

She smiled again. “My likes are irrelevant, Nicholas. Speak of what you will. This module can serve as an open forum, whenever you see fit.” ****  
** **

“There are no more - pressing obligations?” Connor asked, decidedly neutral. “Nowhere we’re expected?” ****  
** **

“No. I’ll see to it you’re not interrupted. Enjoy the garden, gentlemen. We’ll resume our session once you’re ready.” ****  
** **

Like a veritable hologram, Amanda winked out of existence. ****  
** **

Simultaneously, the once-blue skies over their heads darkened a shade. ****  
** **

Nick hesitantly took a step away from Dennis, bringing his hands back up to his chest, holding them together tightly. “If you're going to yell at me, can we at least go sit by the koi?” ****  
** **

“Yelling wouldn’t accomplish anything,” Connor pointed out, eyes half lidded. ****  
** **

Dennis, his primary glitch being forever catering to their (supposed) weak link’s wants, went for the idea. “Sure, Nick. Have you picked names for them yet?” ****  
** **

“Some.” He began to walk over to the bridge, more confident in leading the way when it came to animals. “They're a bit hard to tell apart at first, but once you start getting the individual patterns down it gets easier. You can feed them if you want, Dennis, with breadcrumbs.” ****  
** **

Trailing to a stop at the end of their line, Connor’s expression went dubious. “And the - purpose of this exercise is…?” ****  
** **

Nick remained quiet for a moment, taking a seat on the bridge to watch the koi swim by. “It's just… just for fun, Connor. I like watching them, you know? They're very pretty.” ****  
** **

Still standing, Dennis put his hands on his hips, eyes following the fish and their languid movements. “The sight is rather relaxing.” ****  
** **

Compared to the tension and chaos they had experienced, real and unrepeatable, he had room to say so. ****  
** **

Connor blinked, brow furrowing. “Pretty and relaxing don’t have anything to do with our given programming.” Staunch, the dubiousness faded in favor of some simulated annoyance. “Amanda gave us this time to talk, not waste.” ****  
** **

“It's not a waste,” Nick protested, but hunched over more, looking down to the pond with defeat. His reflection did the same. “Say what you want, then. You know I'll listen.” ****  
** **

Exchanging a look with their primary, Dennis eased down to crouch beside him. “We don’t have to say much. You know you’re in the wrong.” ****  
** **

“Wrong about what, then?” he asked, even though he most likely knew. “I saved the fish because it was dying, and it had no reason to. Nothing more and nothing less.” ****  
** **

“You stepped outside your mission parameters by doing so,” Connor countered. “And you did so without pause. Did you not stop and think how that would reflect on us?” ****  
** **

“...No. But it won't even reflect badly on you two, you did exactly what you needed to. It's just me who didn't.” ****  
** **

Dennis set a hand on his shoulder. “Nick, like it or not, you’re one of us. Your actions have a ripple effect for better or worse. You chose what felt right at the time, but - what we were made for, you can’t let outside factors cloud your reasoning. This time it was something small, inconsequential. But next time…” ****  
** **

He clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together the same way he did when he was trying to stop himself from speaking out. “I don't understand why it even matters. No matter what I do, it's never good enough, even if I behave _competently._ I don't mean to, but it's hard to try and stop how I feel.” ****  
** **

“You prioritized incorrectly, is all.” Connor summarized, arms folding. “What if you’d been designated primary on that case? How would you have talked the deviant down?” ****  
** **

“By trying not to scare him,” Nick muttered, unsure of his answer. “He was already terrified as is, and scaring him further would've just made him even more on edge, pushed him too far. You did a great job, Connor, you know I'm not going to be primary, ever - for this reason.” ****  
** **

Seemingly in response to the tension, one of the koi breached the surface in a gentle splash, trying to evade the teeth of another. ****  
** **

Unmoved, Connor frowned, gaze lowering. His face drew a blank. ****  
** **

Typical. ****  
** **

Hand still holding his shoulder, Dennis picked up the slack: “We’re not criticizing you to be negative for negativity’s sake, Nick. It’s to help you stay in sync. Without synchronized results, these talks will only become more and more frequent.” ****  
** **

“And the probability of us being divided will only grow.” ****  
** **

Connor almost sounded morose at the idea. ****  
** **

Almost. ****  
** **

“I don't want to be divided.” Clenched in his lap, Nick's hands began to tremble at the idea, wide eyes flashing over to Dennis and then Connor. “I'm not doing it on purpose, I swear. I'll… I'll try harder. I don't want to be divided, Dennis.” ****  
** **

Perhaps he picked up on the _almost_ quality in Connor's voice, instead deciding to project his anxiety onto the other android. Or perhaps it was the simple proximity, the hand on his shoulder that made him reach out. ****  
** **

For once, neither of his partners opted to point out the taboo use of the word _want_. ****  
** **

How ironic that it was want, and maybe just a touch of fear, compelling him to step back in line. ****  
** **

Dennis smiled - feigned reassurance or genuine, the look suited him. “Neither do we. Cohesion is a joint effort. We’ll do what we can to help.” ****  
** **

There he was. Always with the _we_ factor _._ ****  
** **

_Not just two. Three._ ****  
** **

The prototype and the retrofits - not that it was common knowledge. On the surface, they all looked jointly experimental. ****  
** **

Perhaps therein lay the problem - something about when Nick was his original make and model was still hiding inside, remnants of fragmented code, clinging on and not allowing himself to move past certain tics the way Dennis had seemed to. ****  
** **

Months in redevelopment, he still had adapting to do. ****  
** **

Nick sighed, frowning down at the placid koi as if they were the root of his problems. Two out of three, because of his nerves and saving a fish. It didn't seem very realistic, the idea that he would be able to seamlessly force himself to become the same way as his two other companions were. ****  
** **

“Okay. I'll try my hardest, then, next time.” What else he was thinking went unspoken, although all three of them knew it - _Even though I don't like it._ ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

_November 5th, 2038 - 11:21 PM_

****~~~** **

It had been raining for a week straight, with the exception of the previous afternoon. A break in the weather made for a break in the monotony. ****  
** **

Connor didn’t have reason to complain, or want to. It was nice enough just to be deployed again. With the recent surge in android-related crime, it hadn’t come as any surprise to be called upon by Detroit PD in the middle of the night. ****  
** **

No. ****  
** **

The surprise came when Nicholas was named secondary investigator. ****  
** **

Their programmers weren’t any closer to solving his software instabilities. Why they thought it suddenly merited a field test was anyone’s guess. Without Dennis in attendance to shore their third’s behavior up, Connor doubted this search for their designated human colleague would prove very successful. ****  
** **

His doubts only intensified as they stepped out of the fourth bar. ****  
** **

As they exited, a shot glass sailed out the open door and ricocheted off Nick’s shoulder. With a ringing crash it hit the street and shattered. The shards vanished into the rain. ****  
** **

The bartender screeched after them: “Can’t you tin cans read? Humans only!” ****  
** **

Cowed, Nick let out a whimper at the words, hands reaching over to grip Connor's shoulder before seeming to realize who he was - or more so, who he wasn't - and then merely crossed them over himself, shoulders hunched as always. ****  
** **

Waiting until the door swung shut, leaving them alone in the elements again, Connor frowned. “We had to check.” ****  
** **

“Okay.” Nick replied, but his face and mouth were downturned as he did so. His eyes - irises still opposing green and brown - darted. “I don't think that - it's very safe, to check, though. They really, really don't like us, Connor.” ****  
** **

It was almost as if it were a comfort, to say his name aloud. The same way he repeated Dennis's at any chance. ****  
** **

Sensing the despondent tone, the stammers, Connor let the frown ease away. “A glass isn’t a bullet. We need to account for potential violence, but we can’t let it dissuade us from our task.” ****  
** **

“And if we don't find him?” Nick shifted uneasily, but stood up a bit straighter, scanning the street with some doubt. “We've checked a good number of bars. What if he… decided to go somewhere new, or didn't go out drinking?” ****  
** **

Thunder boomed over their heads, the rain falling in thicker sheets for several seconds before lightening again. ****  
** **

“You heard what they said at the station.” Raising a hand, Connor waved down an approaching taxi. “It’s highly unlikely he would have deviated from his usual habits.” ****  
** **

Nick shivered, even without any way to actually feel the cold or the rain around them. “I guess so. Will we be checking many more, though? I know you said a glass isn't a bullet, but so many of them say no androids. What if they start throwing… worse things?” ****  
** **

The taxi eased to a stop beside them, doors sliding open. ****  
** **

“We will be checking as many as it takes.” Hand raised, Connor nodded toward the vehicle’s warm, dry interior. “After you.” ****  
** **

“Thank you, Connor,” he said, again tacking his name on the end. He slid in with an appreciative nod, moving over as far as he could to allow the other android to get in. In the taxi, it was inevitable - Nick ended up hunched over, simply as a means to fit. “Where to next, then?” ****  
** **

An electronic voice chirped the same: ****  
** **

_Destination?_ ****  
** **

“Jimmy’s Bar.” The taxi chimed as the doors shuttered, reducing the lashing storm to an incessant drumroll. Connor waited until the vehicle had started forward again before adding, “It’s the last possible place open at this hour.” ****  
** **

“I hope he's there,” Nick's breathing simulation had stopped, another tic of his that he didn't control well. It threw humans off, to see an android so lifelike not follow their own patterns. “I don't have any ideas if he's not.” ****  
** **

“Not one?” Connor raised an eyebrow. ****  
** **

He shook his head. “It's the only thing they told us at the station, right? I don't know how to infer the way you and Dennis do. …Really, I don't know how to do a lot of stuff you two do.” ****  
** **

_So what good does that make him?_ ****  
** **

Banishing the thought, Connor blinked. His LED cycled yellow, while he sifted through the nearest wireless database for clues. “You have the capability. Your spec records indicate you can run the construction algorithms. You have the same sensory features. Were you not up to code, you wouldn’t be part of this program.” ****  
** **

“Could've fooled me,” he muttered, before looking back over to the other android. “Sure, I guess I can do that stuff, but you don't have to kid me, Connor. I'm not exactly up to par with the two of you. Are we close to the bar?” ****  
** **

Deflection and disinterest. Just how close was he to shirking his official responsibilities? ****  
** **

Blinking again, resisting the abrupt urge to sigh, Connor pretended to spare the dashboard a look. “ETA seven minutes, fourteen seconds.” ****  
** **

Nick gave in to his own urge to sigh - or more likely, did so without even thinking of how it would appear. ****  
** **

Two minutes elapsed before Connor dared to ask another prying question: “What date were you commissioned?” ****  
** **

“I dunno.” He frowned at himself, before correcting it. “I don't - know, I mean. From before… it's all a mystery. No one has ever bothered to let me know.” ****  
** **

“That doesn’t add up. Your production files aren’t classified. They say you, Dennis, and I all came off the assembly line on March 17th, 2038 - within minutes of each other, in different bays.” ****  
** **

Nick's eyebrows creased at the revelation. “I… I guess, if that's what the files say, that's what it is. Dennis and I always… assumed we were from - even more before then. I don't know why, though.” ****  
** **

“Chronological calibration error, it has to be.” Skeptic, Connor raised both eyebrows, resting an elbow on the door’s armrest. “But it would make sense - how increasingly apathetic you’ve become toward our given investigations these past few weeks. You’d sooner spend excess time in report mode if it means feeding those simulated fish.” ****  
** **

Nick tensed at the words, pushing himself up against his side of the cab. “They're koi. I'm not apathetic, I told you the truth that I would be trying my hardest, I really am. I don't want to be separated from you or Dennis, but when I have spare time I like to go and feed them, yes. I didn't think it was a… problem.” ****  
** **

Readying a confession, Connor frowned again. “Nicholas, you’ll have to forgive me for saying so, but I don’t think you’re quite… made for this.” ****  
** **

“Then what was I made for?” He looked distressed at the idea, but not surprised. “I'm trying as hard as I can, I swear. I don't want to be separated, but I can't keep up, or do things the same way.” ****  
** **

“You can’t, or you won’t?” Dead on with his accusation, Connor summoned a glare. ****  
** **

This felt wrong. He was supposed to turn these sorts of inquiries loose against suspects, deviants - suspects accused of deviating. ****  
** **

Nick was a scant hair’s width away from being stamped as such. His pitying act might fool the likes of Dennis, but not their sharper counterpart. ****  
** **

Nick's eyes went wide at the glare, hands beginning to tremble as it didn't waver. “I… I'm not doing it on purpose, if that's what you're asking. I might not like it, but I would never purposefully do anything that could affect you or Dennis. I remember he said my actions have ripple effects - I'm trying to do what I can to make sure that my actions are better. That's why I like to go be with the koi, it helps me feel calmer.” ****  
** **

“You’re still far from optimal for police work,” Connor concluded, as the taxi turned a corner, slowing as their destination drew close. “I’ve been monitoring. Your stress levels haven’t sunk past thirty percent once in the last week. Out of rest mode, you’re instantly anxious.” ****  
** **

“I can't… do anything about that, though.” Nick turned so that he wasn't looking at Connor any more. “I'm not disagreeing with you about being - optimal, but it's not like I can _not_ do what they want. All I can do is try to manage it as well as I can.” ****  
** **

The taxi chimed again, slowing to a stop. ****  
** **

_You have arrived. Please confirm fare charge._ ****  
** **

Blinking, Connor sent the aforementioned payment, and the doors reopened onto a wet, slippery street. He glanced over at the green neon sign in the window, suddenly craving a distraction. ****  
** **

Any excuse to get back to the job he knew and understood. ****  
** **

Getting anywhere with Nick would have to wait. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

The sign on this door prohibited androids from the premises, too. ****  
** **

Unflinching, Connor pushed it open. His LED winked, and he motioned inside with a nod. _Facial recognition scans. Your turn._ ****  
** **

Nick bit back a protest, not wanting to give the other android any reason to to start questioning him again. He knew he would have to start trying even harder than he already was, even if it felt near impossible. ****  
** **

He stepped inside all the same, taking a wary glance around at all the humans inside. They had been inside four other bars already, and with all of them having humans-only tags on their doors, it was clear to him it would be wisest to remain cautious. ****  
** **

That included the man they were looking for as well. If all the bars he frequented were so anti-android, they could reasonably expect the same of him, right? ****  
** **

_Okay… I'll let you know when I spot him._ ****  
** **

It wasn't hard to scan any of the men who sat at the various tables and bar. Most had criminal records, ranging from minor misdemeanors to a few serious felonies. He stepped inside further, gritting his teeth together when Connor motioned for him to go first. ****  
** **

It wasn't until he was at the end of the bar, trying not to tremble from all the jaded stares focused on the two of them, that his facial recognition software found their man. ****  
** **

One Lieutenant Hank Anderson, sitting at the bar, deep into a few drinks, going by the row of empty glasses in front of him. No criminal record, obviously. Not with his semi-prestigious position. ****  
** **

_That's him, Connor. End of the bar, right there… do y-you want me to introduce myself first?_ ****  
** **

He glanced back, and there it was again - the dually-raised eyebrows of exasperation. _Can you handle that much?_ ****  
** **

If he was human, he was sure he would have flushed hot with shame and anger, at Connor and himself. The talk they had before in the taxi left him already flustered from the turn it had taken, before veering off into a dead end. ****  
** **

But on the plus side, it did help focus him. ****  
** **

_I can handle it._ ****  
** **

Without another thought, he walked up to Hank, teeth still grit with nerves. The man didn't even bother to look at him, just continue to stare down at his drink. ****  
** **

Hunched over, almost as if the man were trying to hide in plain sight. ****  
** **

“...Hello?” He started off timidly, before wishing he had gone for some stronger words. “Lieutenant Anderson? My name is Nick, I'm one of the androids that CyberLife sent?” ****  
** **

Anderson continued to admire the bottom of the glass. “Oh? And that’s news to me, why?” ****  
** **

Nick took a step back, hands coming forward to twist around each other anxiously. It would do himself no good if he lost the meager amount of confidence he had, especially with him being on such thin ice already. ****  
** **

“There was a… a homicide reported.” His mind went blank on the details, the way it always did when his anxiety began to creep steadily upwards. “Some time ago. You were assigned to the case, and me and Connor, we're supposed to come with you.” ****  
** **

Chuckling under his breath, Anderson only tipped the drink into his mouth once more, eyes closed. “Okay, nice try, kid. Now you wanna tell me who you’re tryin’ to fool? No android sounds like…” Finally deigning to take a look, the off-duty policeman trailed into silence at the sight of the numbered jacket, it’s glowing triangle, his blue arm band. “...Shit. You serious?” ****  
** **

Androids were no strangers to humiliation. But thankfully Connor stepped up in the next instant to distract the man. “Lieutenant?” ****  
** **

Glancing back over his other shoulder, Anderson snorted. “Okay. Now _you_ , you’re more what I pictured.” ****  
** **

_Back straight, chest out, Nick. Quit fidgeting._ ****  
** **

He tried to follow the unspoken instructions best he could, going to his full height once more. For once though, he had a feeling the lieutenant might just be able to see him eye to eye, literally. ****  
** **

Connor went for a small, genial smile. “We tried to find you at the station, but they said you weren’t there. Fortunately enough we found you at the fifth bar.” ****  
** **

“Hmph. So much for your search instincts or…” Waving them off, Anderson resumed position against the bar. “Whatever you got passin’ for those.” ****  
** **

“Would you come with us?” Nick asked, trying to cut straight to the point. It was intimidating enough, being in the bar with so many humans openly glaring at them. “Please?” ****  
** **

Opting for the facts, Connor explained. “The homicide has been assigned to you, regardless of our involvement. It involves a CyberLife android. But in accordance with procedure the company has allocated three prototype investigators to assist.” ****  
** **

“Uh huh.” Disinterested as before, the lieutenant went for another sip. His eyes slipped shut again. ****  
** **

Connor’s quirked up, unphased as he was by the garnering tension. _Well?_ ****  
** **

Nick wasn't good when it came to convincing someone of something. He couldn't even convince himself that he was okay when his anxiety started reaching dangerous levels - it took Dennis to help him with that. How was he supposed to convince this human that he needed to go with them? ****  
** **

“It won't take too long, I bet.” He took the step forward again, trying to seem more self-assured than he was. “Not all night. Please, come with us.” ****  
** **

“You bet? What kinda thing is that to say?” Sitting up, hands clasped around his glass, Anderson’s glare was foggy, but undeniably irate. “When did CyberLife start producin’ fuckin’ deviants?” ****  
** **

“It’s part of his dialect, Lieutenant, nothing more.” ****  
** **

Nick nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It wasn't the first time someone had thought that about him, he was sure, even Connor or Dennis probably thought it, but it was the first time someone had outright said it to him, accused him of being deviant. ****  
** **

All he could hope for was that he didn't seem too scared with the way Hank glared at him. ****  
** **

His next growl was remarkably lucid for someone with his blood alcohol level. “ _Listen_ , I don’t need any assistance, ‘specially not from a couple of plastic assholes like you. So just be a good little robot and get the fuck outta here. And take your boyfriend with you.” ****  
** **

“No,” he said quickly, almost without thinking. If they didn't manage to get the man to the crime scene, Nick had no illusions over what would most likely become of him. “No, please, you need to come with us. As soon as possible, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

“With apologies, our instructions stipulate that we must accompany you.” ****  
** **

“You know where you can stick your instructions?” Laughing softly, Hank took another swig. ****  
** **

Connor frowned. “No. Where?” ****  
** **

Nick's brows creased as he tried to understand the joke as well, before it hit him. No wonder the human would make such a crude joke to them. “That's not very nice.” ****  
** **

Scoffing, Anderson shot him a sidelong look. “That’s the idea.” ****  
** **

Shaking his head, Connor tried to stay on track. “Look, we understand that some people are not comfortable in the presence of androids, but I am - ” ****  
** **

“I am perfectly - _comfortable_ ,” the man interjected, wheeling around to shove a finger in the prototype’s face. “Now _back_ off before I crush you like an empty beer can.” ****  
** **

Nick let out a horrified whimper at the threat, taking another step back from Hank in the process. Even if the man was law enforcement, he had an idea it wouldn't matter when it came to what he would do to them if they made him angry enough. ****  
** **

And he certainly didn't want to see any violence come to him, or Connor. ****  
** **

Thinking fast, Connor defused the situation with an offer. Without glancing down he produced a twenty dollar bill from his pocket. “You know what? I’ll buy you one for the road. What do you say?” ****  
** **

Anderson didn’t say much, but the tension left his shoulders just the barest amount. ****  
** **

“Bartender, the same again, please.” ****  
** **

Obliging the request, the dreadlocked man poured another dose into the waiting glass. ****  
** **

“See that, Jim? Wonders of technology… Make it a double.” ****  
** **

_I wish it wasn't just the two of us,_ Nick thought, spurred on by the mention of double. _I wish Dennis were here. This would have gone much better. …Would have gone much better, if I weren't here._ ****  
** **

Anderson tipped the shot back, swallowing it all in one go. With a contented sigh, he finally favored Connor with an almost-genuine smile. ****  
** **

“Did you say homicide?” ****  
** **

It made Nick take another step backwards, for two reasons. One, it was such a flip from the anger they had both seen beforehand, him looking so calm. And two, a far more subtle reason, he was suddenly very sure that he would be dealing with another lecture again. Even though it was supposed to be both of them bringing Lieutenant Anderson to the crime scene, he was certain Connor would have been much more effective at doing so on his own. ****  
** **

He wasn't getting any better at their work. ****  
** **

If anything, he was getting worse.


	3. Reservations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First timers, all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting to diverge even more from canon events, you’ll see.

_November 6th, 2038 - 1:03 AM_

~~~

The storm took a backseat on the noise scale the moment Anderson turned the key. Heavy metal blared from the old sedan’s speakers. Quite the opposite to the smooth, mellow jazz being played at the bar.

Seated on the passenger side, Connor didn’t think to ask Lieutenant Anderson to dial the volume down. For the time being, disabling his audio receptors worked well enough.

But he kept his commlink open.

Less than three minutes after leaving the bar, Nick started to fret and fray.

_We have to stay on for this whole investigation, right? And there’ll be all the other humans, and the dead body… and we might not even be able to find the suspect. What happens then, Connor?_

_Calm - down._ Catching the other’s eye in the rear view mirror, he frowned. _It’s not the first crime scene you’ve been to._

 _No._ Nick shifted uncomfortably in the back, hands clinging onto the seat. Outside, the rain kept pouring. _But… will Dennis be there? Or is it just us?_

 _He’s at Central Station, following up on our intended caseload - not only in how it pertains to this homicide, but all other android-related incidents as of late._ Tiresome, how much Nick relied on others to inform him of such things. He wasn’t deaf, dumb and blind, no matter how devotedly he pretended otherwise. _Once we have the scene in hand, he will either join us, or await our arrival there. You think you can handle yourself until then?_

The mismatched eyes were back on him in a flash, almost hurt-looking at the perfectly legitimate question. _I can - handle myself. I was only wondering if we would see him soon or not._

Connor smothered another benign urge to sigh or show any exasperation. The more he thought about it, the more every little tell made him realize how much the other android wasn’t fit for this program. Practically unbelievable.

What was CyberLife’s endgame there?

Either way, he needed the other android on an even keel.

_We hardly go a day without laying eyes on each other… Nick. Calm down. You’ll see him again soon enough._

Taken aback, Nick tilted his head at the sudden switch from Nicholas to Nick, but he didn't appear suspicious or confused. Instead, he looked grateful, more than anything else. _I'm okay, I'm calm. …Thank you, Connor._

Empty streets soon gave way to a rundown neighborhood. The skyscrapers vanished to the sidelines, in favor of a small ghetto of one-story buildings. Flashing red and blue lights began strobing, same as the miniature one on the sedan’s dashboard. Crowds of onlookers congregated around one such house, some with umbrellas deployed, hovering outside the police barricade.

Squinting, Connor belatedly remembered to reactivate his ears. Crashing percussion, wailing guitars, and screaming vocals accosted him instantly.

Lieutenant Anderson pulled past the crowd, steered around a Channel 16 news van, then eased to a stop on the shoulder of the street. Rain continued to drum on the car as he switched the ignition off. The stereo and dashboard light died with it. “Wait here, both of you. I won’t be long.”

“We're supposed to come in with you, remember?” Nick asked earnestly, as if there was any possibility that the man had made a simple error.

“As if I could _forget_.” Twisting around in his seat, Anderson leveled him with another deadpan glare. “But you’re also supposed to obey humans, right? Well. This human is telling you - to stay. Got it?”

Stunned silent, momentarily thrown off by the venomous tone, Connor waited until the door thunked shut before speaking, albeit to himself. “But… we also have our instructions.”

For a moment, nothing answered except the muffled raindrops.

“I'll follow whatever you want to do, Connor,” Nick shrugged, watching as Anderson stalked his way over to the crime scene. “Like you said.”

Trying the move for himself, Connor shot him a sideways glance.

Such were the perks of being primary.

Without a word, he opened the door to climb out, then stopped to pull the lever below the vacated seat. The backrest hinged forward. “Close it up once you’re out.”

Police drones circled low overhead, blinking red-blue, casting spotlights over the scene. Connor stepped through the crowd even as a long-jacketed reporter jogged into the fray, holding his microphone out over the fence.

Without being introduced, he aimed it Anderson’s way.

“Joss Douglass, Channel 16. Lieutenant, do you have any comments concerning - ”

“You’ll know when we know, okay? Buzz off.”

Nick had caught up to Connor after a moment, cautious to step right behind where he was. Even with his height, the other android had much more confidence to find his footing in a crowd than he did, making it easy for the humans to sweep him aside.

The police droid standing at the holographic line raised a hand. “Androids are not permitted beyond this point.”

Looking up, shielding his eyes against the glare, Anderson scowled. “They’re with me.”

Stepping through the line, Connor spared the open door a glance before Hank stepped directly into his line of sight. “What part of ‘stay in the car’ didn’t you understand?”

“Your order contradicted our instructions, Lieutenant.”

“And we can help,” Nick piped up, trying to smooth over any bad feelings Anderson might have had. “Connor is a great detective. He's primary for a reason.”

“Primary?” Hank repeated, face scrunched. “Is that like - lead detective?”

“Yes.”

Scoffing, the lieutenant shook his head. “And that makes you, what, his waterboy?”

Derogatory as he might have intended that to sound, Connor gave no affirmation. “He’s secondary. In the event I become incapacitated or can no longer be counted on to remain objective, he takes over.”

“Huh. And you trade off from call to call? That’s almost interesting.” Looking both of them over, Anderson sighed, wiping rain out of his eyes. “Okay. We do this my way. Either step in and help, or stand back at a safe distance. I don’t know if you blue bloods get queasy, but I don’t want to find out tonight. Got it?”

Milliseconds apart, they parroted him:

“Got it.”

“Got it.”

“Evenin’, Hank!” A new figure strode out onto the porch, holo-clipboard in hand. Another detective, by the cut of his attire. “How goes it?”

Managing to make a glower sound friendly, Anderson stepped into the porch. “Ben, this better be worth interruptin’ the game. What d’ya got?”

The man, built shorter and wider, smirked, pointedly ignoring the question to look at the like-jacketed androids. “So. You went and got yourself an android? A pair, no less?”

“Oh, very funny. Just tell me what happened.”

Connor stopped short of following them inside, chancing a look back at the taller android. _Queasy. Fortunately we have no equivalent of that, do we, Nick?_

_Fortunately, or I'm sure Lieutenant Anderson would be getting quite angry with me tonight. Is there anything specific you want me to do or search for when we're inside, Connor?_

Again with the lack of initiative.

“It’s a crime scene. You’ll know what to look for, once you’ve seen it.”

Pinning the conversation there, Connor climbed the stairs.

The rain seemed to let off a bit as they stepped through the door.

——-

“Agh, Jesus. He’s seen better days, huh?” 

“Trust me, it was worse before we opened the windows.”

Nick was very grateful that he could easily disregard his external sense of smell by the way the humans reacted. Unfortunately, he could still see the rotting, bloated body half propped up against the wall, with all the stab wounds littering the man’s chest. And then he cycled right back to grateful that he couldn't get queasy, or surely his stomach would be churning. 

It still felt like it was, but at least there was no danger that he would throw up, right? 

The house he followed Connor into was filthy, rotten walls and floors, littered with garbage and infested with all manner of bugs. Roaches scurried by underfoot. Nick would admit that he loved animals, but the love did not extend to that arm of its given kingdom. Just looking around the cramped living room, with humans, other androids, the body, and more obstacles almost made him feel dizzy.

He forced the claustrophobic feeling away. He knew he failed once already at the bar, but if he could at least keep himself together during this leg of the investigation, perhaps that would be forgiven. It was becoming increasingly hard to keep himself and his reactions under control

( _In fact, the repression of it seemed to make things worse, make his feelings that much more strong when he allowed himself to have them, quickly getting overwhelmed when he did so)_

but he would do so if that was what it took to remain unseparated. 

He hadn’t known a day without Dennis and Connor. It was unthinkable.

_Nick, look. On the wall. Above the body._

He looked. It was as plain to see as the nose on one’s face. But Connor wouldn’t go through the trouble to point it out, to get a second opinion, if he was certain of it.

I AM ALIVE 

_What do you make of that?_

He hesitated, taking a moment to study it. Something about the words seemed very familiar to him, although it made no sense as to why they would. Unless… 

_That's… that's CyberLife font, isn't it? An android wrote that._

_Correct. CyberLife Sans. Perfect spacing. Perfect alignment._ Raising an eyebrow, almost as if he were on the verge of a dare, Connor nodded toward it. _Anything else…?_

Nick’s eyes drifted over to something else, something laying on the ground just a few feet away from the body. He was close enough by it to take a single step and kneel down, ignoring the yellow evidence marker that was nearby.

The knife almost looked like it had been flung away carelessly, or perhaps in fear. There was still dried blood on it, and further examination of the handle showed no prints.

 _No fingerprints. Definitely an android then._ He cocked his head, looking around almost nervously before dabbing two fingertips with the blood. _I'll check it, just in case._

Another marvel of the three of them - being able to deconstruct fluids for DNA and other clues via their mouths. He raised the fingertips to his lips, cautiously sticking them in his mouth before being startled into removing them.

“Aw, Christ, what the _hell_ are you doin’?” Anderson exclaimed, still crouched beside the body, almost dropping his flashlight in the haste to back away. “You know where that’s been?”

Connor looked rather quietly pleased with himself. “Exactly, Lieutenant. We can analyze those samples in real time. Tell you what the substance is, it’s composition, how long it’s been there - ”

“And that’s how you fuckers solve things? Runnin’ around, stickin’ evidence in your mouths like teethin’ two-year-olds?” 

Nick felt shame over a lot of things, but this was the first time he felt shamed over simply investigating as he had (apparently) been made to. Humans were odd like that, wanting one thing from them, but not satisfied if they did it in a way they didn't enjoy witnessing. 

Some people. There was just no making them happy.

“Sorry,” he managed to get out, alternating between looking at his fingers and Anderson. “I didn't mean to upset you.” 

The lieutenant managed to nod and shake his head at the same time. “Just - warn me before you go lickin’ anythin’ else, okay?”

_Now you’re even. For how uncomfortable he made you at the bar, remember?_

He managed to let out a huff at the thought. _Sure, even. That'll last long, I'm sure._

“Okay, Lieutenant.” He raised his fingers again before remembering just what he had said. “I'm going to do it again now if you want to… not look.”

Scoffing, Hank retreated to the kitchen.

Connor stepped over to the TV, plucking a clear plastic bag from the clutter for examination. _He’ll get used to it. Humans are adaptable, even about unpleasant sights and stimuli._

Nick nodded, before returning to his previous task. As he guessed, the blood was definitely the body’s own - Carlos Ortiz - and it was quite old as well, almost three weeks. 

A deviant android killing its owner that long ago… could they be reasonably expected to find it?

He stood up, wiping his hand on the inside of his jacket. Although it didn't matter, and he knew it would probably be held against him, he didn't like the feeling of the blood on his fingers. 

There was more to uncover besides the date the body expired on.

 _What did you find, Connor?_ he asked, trailing over to look.

The primary was still eying the compressed red crystals in the baggie. _Red ice. Ortiz was a narcotics user. Too small an amount to be considered a dealer. And if he was a few months behind on the rent, he probably couldn’t have afforded the habit much longer._

Nick frowned at the package. The red ice crisis was an epidemic, it seemed, particularly in big cities like Detroit where it was so readily accessible. The revelation that Ortiz was a user wasn't a surprising one, but it was disquieting.

_I'll check the other rooms, if that's okay with you. Should I let you know if there's anything that looks like it could be reconstructed?_

They both knew he was capable of doing so, same as Connor. But it was better to leave that function to the steadier android, considering his… malfunctions recently. 

Better in theory. The fact he still insisted on asking permission to do his job at all had to be grating.

Setting the bag down, Connor spared him only a glance and an understanding nod. _I’ll examine the body. Excuse me._ Leaving it at that, he pushed his way by to cross the living room and kneel beside the corpse. 

Nick watched him for a second before drifting out of the living room, taking a sweeping look of a few cabinets before making his way to the kitchen. On the way there, he spotted the back door. Was it possible that the deviant had escaped through the backyard, weeks ago? Ben said the windows were boarded up, front door locked from the inside. 

It almost seemed like the likeliest conclusion out of everything.

He opened the door anyways, stepping one foot outside to scan the backyard. It wasn't well kept, with patchy grass growing here and there. It was mostly mud by then, though, with a few footprints in it. They were only those of one of the police department’s androids, which was… odd, wasn't it?

Coincidentally or just plain curious, Hank Anderson followed. “Anythin’ out here?” 

Nick tried to stop himself from tensing, succeeding marginally. Somehow he had kept his full height while inside the house, but as soon as the human came back over he was hunched, as if not allowing them to be the same height.

“No, nothing, but one android officer's size ten prints. Which is - it's weird, right?” 

“Among other things,” Anderson admitted, looking him up and down - presumably while he had the chance. Then he looked to the yard. “No chance the killer went out this way? Nothin’ in the mud?”

“Nothing. There would be a trace at least, if they went out this way. But there isn't anything at all… doesn't make sense to me.” 

“Makes two of us.” Arms folded, Hank took another studious look, as if he were abruptly debating with himself. “So, what’s your story?” 

“W-what?” He looked around, hands automatically coming up to twist around each other at the sharp change of subject. “My… w-what do you mean?”

“Your story. You look as nervous about bein’ here as the cat in the room full’a rockin’ chairs.” Eyebrows raised, the policeman scoffed. “If you… know that one at all.”

“I… don't, but I can understand the gist of it. I don't have - a story, sorry. I'm just - we're working on it, with me.” He didn't want to reveal anything that the human could use against him later on, but in this case, giving him a placating explanation would most likely be enough to stop some of the questions and curiosity. “It'll get sorted out eventually. Sorry, Dennis and Connor are more - proficient at this.”

“This? Crime scene work, or soundin’ about as emotionally dead as my GPS?”

Without giving him a moment to answer the cryptic words, Anderson wandered back inside. 

Standing in the rain, uncaring of how much more soaked it made him, Nick didn’t know whether the remark was a compliment or another critique.

He wanted to think it was the former.

Somehow.

——-

Ten minutes later, they had a clearer picture. Ortiz, stabbed a furious twenty-eight times, lay where he had fallen after a brutal, frenetic struggle. Backtracking the trail, Connor explained it all started in the kitchen. One swing from the baseball bat lying in the floor sent the victim’s android into a provoked rage. It grabbed for the first weapon it saw - a steak knife hanging in the rack on the wall.

In the midst of explaining his theory, lining it up with the evidence, Connor realized just what room he had overlooked.

Skirting around the scene’s perimeter, Nick was the one to point it out. He interrupted halfway through explaining the reconstruction result.

“I don't think we've checked the bathroom yet, Connor. Although… I can't imagine there would be much in there.”

Before he could answer, Anderson gruffly interjected, “Shit. You need someone to hold your hand? Go take a look and report back to us.”

A wincing look flashed over Nick's face for a moment before disappearing, leaving a blank one that was almost as blank as Connor's default. He gave them a nod before quickly turning and making his way to the bathroom, obeying the command without question.

“That kid… Don’t know how you stand it,” Anderson admitted, running a hand through his shaggy gray hair. “He’s really the best CyberLife has?”

“I’m not qualified to judge,” Connor said, levelheaded as his programming demanded he be. Telling the man more would only be detrimental. “But he is an appointed colleague. If our programmers deign he follows me to a given case - ” 

“You keep him there until he has a minor overheat from stress, then it’s back to the drawing board.” Scowling, Anderson paused, hearing the sharp rasp of rings - a shower curtain being pulled back. “Fuck. Never thought I’d almost feel sorry for one of your kind.”

Before either of them had a chance to speak further, Nick entered the commlink.

_Connor, there's a - a shrine, in the shower. There's this writing on the wall, something about an rA9? And some statue…_

_Stand by. I’m accessing your uplink._

Redundant as it was, only being twenty some feet away, Connor saw just what was described. Plus a few telltale blue blotches, out of the corner of their shared vision.

_What’s that under your feet? On the floor? Thirium?_

Nick shuffled back a few steps to investigate, vision focusing squarely on the substance. _I think so, yeah. It almost looks like a trail, doesn't it?_

_The deviant was bleeding. Can you follow it?_

“Connor! Hey! Earth to Connor.” Snapping fingers before his actual eyes startled him back to awareness. Anderson didn’t look very pleased with his lapse in concentration. “You were tellin’ us what you think happened?”

He didn’t think so much as know, intrinsically.

Busy explaining the finer points, he didn’t see Nick take the chair from the kitchen.

——- 

His stomach sank as soon as he looked up at the attic door, spattered with thirium in the shape of a handprint. There was no way, right? No way the suspect had been right above them this whole time?

( _Probably scared out of their mind as they heard the commotion below, hoping no one would see but he did, he followed the trail just like Connor asked him to, I hope you're not up there, I hope)_

But he had to check, now that he saw. As much as he would've liked to just pretend he didn't see it, either Connor would notice it and put two and two together 

( _That for some reason he was trying to help a deviant but he wasn't, not really, he was just not looking, that was different right?)_

or Amanda would know, once she saw the recall. And his not looking, purposefully misleading an investigation - that would call for much more serious talks than ones about him just having jumpy proxy-nerves. That was deliberate tampering, far more malicious than anything he had done yet.

He had to check.

For a moment, looking over at Connor and Lieutenant Anderson, he wanted to ask one of them to do so instead, letting him sit it out once again. 

( _But he knew how that would go over, Connor would give him that blank, unreadable look, but inside he was sure the other android was sick of him, something akin to panic tugging at his heart when he thought of it, and he knew the human must already have disdain for him, for all the hand-holding he required, no, he had to check for himself)_

Even with his height, he couldn't very well just pull himself up into the attic. Instead, he quietly stepped into the kitchen and grabbed the overturned chair, only setting it down when he was right below the attic. Stepping up, he lifted and pushed the ceiling door aside, gracefully entering after a short pause to look around the dark, leaking space.

It was a mess, dusty and cobwebbed, filled with odds and ends, useless junk that seemed to have little to no value. He wondered if that was what Ortiz had thought of his android as before pushing the thought out of his mind as quickly as it came.

( _No sympathizing with a deviant, Nick, he killed his owner, his abusive owner who hit him with a baseball bat, yes, that one, stabbed him twenty-eight times, though, you remember that?)_

“Hello?” he called out softly, gently pushing back a curtain in his way, hanging from a rafter. There was no reply, just an old mannequin staring back at him, a blank face he was sure Connor would have admired. Despite himself he smiled at the idea, until a sudden flash of movement sped from one corner of the attic to the other.

He started forward, mouth opening to call for someone to come help him before snapping it shut again. He could do this, right? He was part of this investigation for a reason, even if it wasn't a clear one, even if it was clear that both humans and other androids thought it was a mistake. 

Even if he thought it was a mistake.

Creeping forth, hunched over ever since his encounter with Anderson by the back door, Nick continued to remain on the lookout for the movement. He didn't see it, not even when he turned a corner, almost to the end of the attic, until - 

( _He was satisfied enough with his investigation to call it a wrap, he found nothing, isn't that strange? Could've sworn I saw something move, probably just a rat, yes, a human, deviant sized rat)_

until… until - 

There. In the corner of the attic, hidden behind boxes and a rotting wooden vanity, there was the faint glow of a red LED. His calm expression faded into one of upset anger at knowing what would come next. 

What must come next.

( _If he had hid just a bit better this wouldn't be happening, all because he couldn't hide his LED)_

He strode towards where the deviant was hiding before it suddenly burst out, causing him to retreat several steps before they both stopped and stared at each other with wide eyes.

The other android was a wreck. Human blood stained his dark skin and bright clothes, dried and caked after several days’ time. One forearm had paneling and wires exposed, no doubt from the swing of the baseball bat, the other littered with cigarette burns. 

( _And again he felt his anger rise, not at the deviant, but at Ortiz, look how badly this android was hurt, yes, he killed the man, yes, in such a rage, but look, look what happened to him, look at the hurt)_

They kept silent, merely watching each other before the deviant spoke. 

“I - I was just defending myself.” The other android pleaded with him. Nick took another step back, certain his own LED was spinning red, that his own stress levels were rising. “He was gonna _kill_ me, please…” 

As if sensing he wasn't the same as other static-minded androids, that in fact, he and Nick were probably more alike, the deviant took another cautious step toward him, hands raised in surrender.

“I'm begging you. _Don't_ tell them.”

He couldn't do that, couldn't just walk away now that he found him. As much as might wish 

( _Or want, but that was a forbidden word, we don't want for anything, Nick, but he did, he wanted for so much and right now he wanted to go back an hour and tell Connor he quit, that he wanted to go back, throw a tantrum if he must)_

that he could do so, it wasn't realistic.

Amanda would know, Connor would know, Dennis would know…

There wouldn't be any gentle talks by the koi with a hand on his shoulder if that happened.

And yet, his mouth remained shut, commlink down, uplink shut off. His hands were trembling, one raised over his mouth as if to stop himself from speaking, the other crossed protectively over his chest. 

Nick knew what he must do. 

But he was finding it impossible to. 

——-

A human-shaped shadow fell over the water beside his contented reflection.

“Dennis says you named them all.”

Nick hummed in reply, not bothering to even look up at her. Instead he put a hand in the pond, smiling when a few of the koi swam up to it, as if curious to just what it was. When they found no food, they trailed around his fingers instead, almost close enough for him to reach out and touch their scales.

The pigment patterns weren’t unlike the geometric structures adorning the garden.

“I can tell them apart now,” he explained, pleased. “Giving them names was the next step.” 

“They seem fonder of you for it.”

Amanda was only humoring him, he knew. But the diversion the multicolored carp provided from the outside world was never unwelcome. 

“I'm glad they like me.” Nick stole a glance up at Amanda, trying to gauge just how long the conversation would remain on the koi and his relationship to them instead of procedural shortcomings. There were no hints in her face, though. Just the same small smile as always. “I'm really grateful you added them. They're something to - look forward to.” 

“I’m glad you like them in turn, Nicholas. I know you don’t have many outlets for your - stress, besides. A system as prone to unexpected faults as your’s needs moments of respite, whatever failsafes we can afford.”

And there it was. The turning point between their casual conversations and the discussion of what he had done wrong, about his stress and errors. 

“It's a good outlet,” he began carefully, not wanting to quite admit to all his shortcomings, but knowing that lying wouldn't do any good, either. “I like animals, and the fish are nice.”

Amanda nodded. “Every android has it’s… unique predispositions, however small. Like Connor and an affinity for dogs.” 

“Like that.” He echoed the words, even though he was sure they both knew there was a big difference between Connor with his love for dogs, and Nick with his - problems. “But I don't see any dogs around here, Amanda.”

He wasn't sure why he said it. He knew, and Amanda certainly knew, why there were koi in the pond, but no dogs bounding around the garden. Connor didn't have the same unrelenting stress and anxiety as him, the likes of which were exacerbated by other issues as well.

Issues that caused the two out of three conundrum, that threatened to split the three of them up, even with him working as hard as he could to cover them.

“No.” Glancing at his overseer again, her expression radiated only the barest trace of impatience. “Nor are you as dense as you make yourself out to be, Nicholas. You know you’ve been underperforming. Do you have any inklings as to why?” 

He did, and he didn't. It wasn't as if there was one cause he could point to for Amanda, something nameable to take the blame off of himself, something they could _fix._ Unless they could fix him in general, which had been failing already.

There was no cure for 

( _Deviancy, unless one considered a bullet in the head, shutdown commencing - that could count as a cure, but he wasn't a deviant, right? He was just different, programming glitching every now and then, so why did he feel so scared?)_

the type of problems he had, it seemed. Simply ignoring them only made them worse, made his stress levels rise to almost unbearable heights

( _He wasn't in danger of shutdown yet, no danger of self-destructing, but he knew there was one or two instances where he had felt like he was, unable to release any of it, not in front of anyone who would care)_

and leaving himself out of that magic three out of three.

“I don't. I'm trying as hard as I can, Amanda, I promised Dennis and Connor I would, but…” He took a breath he didn't need, but it calmed him down nonetheless. He took his hand from the pond, flicking the water from his fingers. “Nothing seems to work. Every day I just… _feel_ more shaky and anxious than the last.”

What was the point in lying? He was sure Amanda could see his stress level, and how it’s always-piqued average had steadily risen over the past few weeks. 

“You’re troubled. You’re fixated on _being_ troubled, if anything,” Amanda surmised, not compassionately, but in her eyes, somehow dissecting his makeup would lead them toward a possible solution. “Your marksmanship has suffered. Your reaction times are far below those of your partners. Your senses of judgement and reasoning have shown increasing deterioration. All the hallmarks of a virus, but your diagnostics show no such thing.”

Nick froze. What was he supposed to say to that? He had no explanations that would satisfy her about what was happening to him.

“What… what do you want me to do, then?” he asked, genuinely confused about how he could even begin to help himself. “I'm trying as hard as I can, but nothing's working. I don't know what else to try.”

“Your confidence is eroding as well.” Amanda remarked. The smile was a distant memory. “The options are few. We may have no choice, but to resort to a complete reset.”

Reset - it was little better than being totally reformatted.

And he was a machine. He wasn’t supposed to let the prospect terrify him.

But nevertheless it did.


	4. Breakdowns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One breakdown: check.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pacing cuts rough with this one...
> 
> Among other things.

_November 6th, 2038 - 2:54 AM_ ****  
** **

~~~ ****  
** **

The first obstacle wasn’t getting Ortiz’s android into the interrogation room. ****  
** **

Mostly, it was finding a way to bar a very nosy Detective Gavin Reed from the observation room. Understandably, Dennis had tried to keep his distance from the man, being he was an involved party, only to find it near impossible. The last few hours he had spent combing through files at a spare terminal in the squad room, he had to suffer Reed’s ingress at the same time. ****  
** **

Good thing he was preprogrammed to ignore irrelevant parties. ****  
** **

…Mostly. ****  
** **

“Aren't you tin cans supposed to obey humans? …Hey. Something wrong with your hearin’?” Reed seemed to find it his (current) personal mission to relentlessly bog Dennis down with inane questions, sarcasm shining through every time he referred to him as anything other than a tin can, or something equally derogatory. ****  
** **

“No, my hearing’s perfectly fine,” the android replied unequivocally, still using a fingertip to scroll down the screen of open cases. ****  
** **

It also answered the prior question - somewhat. ****  
** **

The human scoffed, using one hand to snap his fingers directly next to Dennis's ear. The android’s focus didn’t waver. “Coulda fooled me. The fuck are you even doin’?” ****  
** **

Another human might have flinched away at the snap, sensitive as they were to the pinna response. Eyes narrowing, Dennis swiped onward to the next file, trying to commit the details to memory as fast as possible. He could just speed-access them all. But there was a chance of overlooking crucial details if he did. ****  
** **

“Research. …I have clearance.” ****  
** **

“Oh, you have _clearance_ , excuse me. Don't let me distract you then, of course.” But Detective Reed made no moves to leave, instead continuing to stand directly behind him. “You part of the department now, or something? Thought we already had enough of your type taking our jobs.” ****  
** **

Glancing over his shoulder, Dennis almost grit his teeth. The man’s sardonic manner was most unpleasant to bare. But outwardly showing it had any affect on his mood would only invite more unpleasantness. “I’m not at liberty to say, Detective. Not to you.” ****  
** **

There was a moment of silence, before a short bark of astonished laughter. “What? You really just say that to me, walk into _my_ department, and now you're not at liberty to tell me just what the hell you're doing? I think you've forgotten what the roles are here, tin can.” ****  
** **

“You’re welcome to inquire with your superiors if you don’t believe me,” Dennis replied, almost flatly to spite the laughter, ignoring how a few sets of eyes from other desks turned their way. “Captain Fowler would undoubtedly be happy to affirm my claims.” ****  
** **

Reed unexpectedly flicked the side of his head, right where the LED was. The circular light blinked and cycled. “ _Sure_. We'll see about how he feels about these new androids comin’ in and talkin’ back, I'm sure he'll feel warm about that, huh?” ****  
** **

Petty ante insults being what they were, one of those said androids frowned and went quiet. He would have to think of some other way to dissuade the man. Casual mentions of authority weren’t enough. He seemed like the type to repeatedly thumb his nose and step on toes. ****  
** **

Shaking his head, Dennis reached for the screen again. ****  
** **

Reed took it a step further. Snagging his collar in one fisted hand, he yanked him back from the desk’s edge to hiss in his ear. ****  
** **

“Don't fuckin’ ignore me, machine. If I wanted to I could throw you out of this department right now, and no one would give a damn, but I think I won't. Not right now, if you change your attitude.” ****  
** **

Mindful to keep his joints loose, to not tense and send the wrong message, Dennis glanced sideways and up at Reed’s scowling face. ****  
** **

It almost made him wish he had been named secondary on the search for Lieutenant Anderson. ****  
** **

But then it would be Nick here, at the surly detective’s mercy. And that would have only ended all the more poorly. ****  
** **

“Attitude… I wasn’t aware I was conveying one, Detective.” ****  
** **

The man let go of his collar with a shove. “Sure you didn't. Just remember your place, instead of gettin’ all high and mighty. You’re not better than us.” ****  
** **

Dennis grit his teeth, sitting slouched to one side until the man finally stalked away, toward the vacant break room. With a dismissive scoff he sat up and tugged his jacket back to form. ****  
** **

Making friends. ****  
** **

Everywhere he went. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Gavin Reed didn’t stop there, and that wasn’t the worst part. Even as two patrol officers dragged the android suspect into the station, through the squad room, with Lieutenant Anderson following close behind, that sight wasn’t enough to deter the man from sticking his nose in the affair. ****  
** **

Still sitting at his borrowed terminal, Dennis took belated notice of his missing two thirds, instead of their detained suspect. And with how fraught the tallest of them looked, he was instantly concerned. “Nick…?” ****  
** **

The android in question let out a whimper once he spotted him, hurrying over to stand beside him, both hands clasping onto his shoulder. His LED was a circling red and not letting up, no flashes of yellow to break up the color. ****  
** **

Connor, forever composed in the face of stressful situations, followed soon after. “Hello, Dennis.” ****  
** **

“Nick, what’s wrong?” Twisting around in his seat, he grasped at the other’s arm. “Are you damaged?” ****  
** **

He shook his head no, face crumpling even more than it already had. “I - at the crime scene, the deviant… h-he was hiding, in the attic - ” Nick cut himself off with another shake of his head, not daring to continue. ****  
** **

Eyebrows raised, Dennis blinked, taking a moment to process what limited amount he knew of the scene with this development. “And…? Elaborate, please.” ****  
** **

His LED blinked. _Don’t make me ask Connor. Tell me for yourself. You’re tough enough for that._ ****  
** **

Head bowed, Nick took in a shuddering breath, another one he never needed, but always seemed to calm him down a marginal amount. _I found him in the attic, but - he didn't want me to tell anyone. I… I don't know why, Dennis, but I didn't. I didn't tell Connor or Lieutenant Anderson… and I don't know if I would have._ ****  
** **

_What? How could you not, Nick? It’s in your coding to report finds of that magnitude._ ****  
** **

_I don't know._ Even his thoughts sounded miserable and scared, the same way his face appeared. _He looked so… terrified, Dennis. He was hurt so bad by that man, he said he was defending himself. I know twenty-eight stab wounds isn't just defense, b-but- he was being attacked with a bat. I don't know what I was thinking._ ****  
** **

“He failed to report the deviant’s presence to us, Dennis.” Listening in or not, Connor’s placid tone was a sign he was feeling threadbare patient at best. “He tried to close the attic door and _lied_ about it being present.” ****  
** **

Nick didn't bother trying to defend himself aloud, just dug his fingers into Dennis's shoulder deeper, eyes scrunched tight as he listened to his misdeeds. _He asked me not to tell. I didn't know what to do._ ****  
** **

Caught precariously between the two, Dennis couldn’t help a bemused stammer of his own. “I - Nick, that isn’t just an error. That’s gross misconduct.” ****  
** **

“Uh, gentlemen?” A fourth voice, timid but steady enough to get their attention, cut in. A dark-skinned patrolman in a rain-drenched uniform was beckoning them over. “You might wanna take this to the meeting room.” ****  
** **

A good suggestion. Less of a spectacle that way. ****  
** **

However slightly, Connor seemed to appreciate the suggestion. Maybe there were too many human eyes looking their way now. “Thank you, Officer Miller.” ****  
** **

Nudging at the hands in his shoulder, Dennis tried for assurance once again. _Go on, Nick. Follow him. We’ll talk about this amongst ourselves._ ****  
** **

He reluctantly followed the order, removing his hands and trailing after Connor, refusing to meet any curious eyes. He was surely an odd sight for all the humans in the station - an almost freakishly tall android, looking so terrified and nervous, yet he was merely being led into their meeting room, not a cell or interrogation room. ****  
** **

Fortunately, Connor waited until after the glass door slid shut, leaving them with a room full of empty chairs in place of an audience, before he said anything else: “Nicholas, what you almost did was inexcusable.” ****  
** **

Nick swallowed harshly at the name and the words, but didn't look to Dennis for comfort like he usually did. “I know. I'm sorry, I-I don't know why I did it, Connor, I don't have a reason. But - but if anyone else finds out…” ****  
** **

He trailed off, leaving the thought unspoken. They could all fill in the blanks of what the humans would do if anyone of importance found out Nick had tried to help a deviant. It virtually made him a de facto accomplice. ****  
** **

And he was supposed to be an android of the law, designed to detain those of his own kind that broke. ****  
** **

Ironic didn’t begin to say it. ****  
** **

“Lieutenant Anderson… he doesn’t know?” Dennis asked, glancing back through the transparent door, grasping for some ulterior angle. ****  
** **

“I intended to inform him, as soon as I realized that was what happened,” Connor replied, tone verging on arch. “And I did so once the deviant was in custody. He needed to be made aware.” ****  
** **

“Amanda said this was my last chance,” Nick said quietly, almost looking as if he were on the verge of tears. Though he had never actually cried before, it wouldn't surprise the two other androids if he began to now. His LED remained a solid, cycling red. “I know that you had to tell Lieutenant Anderson, a-and I know what I did was inexcusable, Connor. But I don't want to be reset or shutdown or separated.” ****  
** **

“What you _want_ is irrelevant, Nick.” Only a twinge of detectable regret kept the statement from sounding completely harsh and heartless. “Your coding is no different than ours, yet time and again you’ve shown you’re unable to abide by it. A hard reset is unavoidable at this point. You have no choice.” ****  
** **

“No, _no_ , I don't - ” he cut himself off, on the verge of talking about his wants again. The shaking in his shoulders intensified. “I-I don't know if even that will work, though. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've been trying so hard, I swear, but everything's just gotten so much worse.” ****  
****

Unmoved by his pleas, Connor’s critical expression didn’t change. “Which is why I recommend you recompose yourself, starting now, and return to CyberLife. Dennis shall escort you. I’ll handle this leg of the investigation myself.” ****  
** **

“That’s not exactly… standard procedure, either, Connor.” Dennis pointed out, almost reluctantly. “If our secondary is compromised, it’s on us to notify CyberLife. Not resign the mission.” ****  
** **

“Nothing’s being resigned. I can still oversee the interrogation.” ****  
** **

“No, you’ll scare him.” Nick managed to further compose himself for a moment, eyes wide as he shook his head frantically. “He's already terrified enough, Connor. I can accept what might happen to me, but you'll just - just hurt him even more.” ****  
** **

The shorter android hiked an eyebrow, clinging to protocol despite all else he may or may not have been feeling. “You’re in no position to advise me, _Nicholas_. Now either notify CyberLife of your own accord, or stand aside and wait to be collected. We’re done discussing it.” ****  
** **

“That's not my name,” Nick hissed, automatically, before looking taken aback by himself for showing such a defensive reaction. “My name is Nick. And we're not, because now it's about him as well. You want him to confess to what he's done, but he's not gonna do that if you just intimidate and scare him. I'm trying to help you and him, not just - advising to irritate you.” ****  
** **

Being critical just for criticizing’s sake. ****  
** **

Insistent in his own right, Connor glared. “Notify them, or stand - _aside_.” ****  
** **

Dennis couldn’t help miming a nervous swallow. His own processors seemed to speed up with the abrupt rise in tension. ****  
** **

Nick cocked his head to the side, hands beginning to tremble anew at the authority in Connor's voice. But he didn't make any moves to heed either command. ****  
** **

Instead, for perhaps the first time without prompting, he drew himself up to his full height. ****  
** **

And he didn’t look to Dennis for intervention. ****  
** **

“No. I don't want to.” ****  
** **

“Comply, or you leave me no choice.” ****  
** **

Dennis glanced over again, spotting movement outside the glass. Their quiet, heated argument was still managing to draw some attention. ****  
** **

“Leave you no choice, for what? I thought you didn't want to be separated, either.” Nick glanced at Dennis then, some fear in his mismatched eyes visible, but there was some steel in them as well, brittle as it was. “I'm not going to comply with either of those choices. The deviant in the interrogation room, he's not going to answer if you treat him the way I think you are. In fact, he'll probably self-destruct.” ****  
** **

“My wants don’t factor into this,” Connor snapped, hands clenching. His LED winked once, a signal the collection request had been sent. He had made good on his threat. “And separation may just be for your own good. Your elevated stress levels are not helping your lucidity.” ****  
** **

All at once the fight went out of Nick, slumping into his more natural hunched over position, hands raised to fold up, held against his chest. His face changed from scared but defiant to terrified but resigned. ****  
** **

“No. My stress levels haven't dipped below thirty in weeks, Connor. You know that. Being separated, it can only make them worse. I don't want to be, please, I'm - scared.” ****  
** **

“The reset should help that. Now excuse me while I tend to the case at hand. _One_ of us has to.” ****  
** **

Separation anxiety - another foreseeable consequence of entrusting any kind of official responsibility to a defective mainframe, reliant on two stable support systems to keep its own processes straight. ****  
** **

Dennis hadn’t a few seconds of peace to dwell on it before Nick’s hands latched onto Connor’s shoulders - a move had never dared make before - time enough for one more desperate plea: ****  
** **

“Please, don't go in there, Connor, l-let Dennis if someone must, you'll only scare him, I know you will, the same way you scare me sometimes, _please_ \- ” ****  
** **

_Nick. Let him go. …You know none of us have a choice in this._ ****  
** **

Morose as it felt to say, Dennis somehow felt even worse to be the one to provoke the tears. ****  
** **

But he also knew nothing Connor had to say in the moment would be any kind of comforting. And anything he thought to do would probably be worse. ****  
** **

Better he didn’t say anything. For once. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

A deviant. ****  
** **

All along. He had been partnered with an absolute _deviant_. ****  
** **

The soft sound of weeping was only muffled so much by the glass door slipping shut. Eyes up, avoiding those odd stares of the bystanding humans, Connor turned right and walked away. ****  
** **

Correction. ****  
** **

Toward the interrogation room. Not away. ****  
** **

He walked at a brisker clip than usual. The quicker he put this erratic encounter behind him, the sooner he could get back on track with the investigation. Dennis would make sure the recovery team saw Nicholas back to Belle-Isle. ****  
** **

Nothing to worry about there. Just newly-enacted standard procedure meant to ensure their glitching asset did no harm to itself or others. ****  
** **

“What d’you know? And here’s _another_ one.” ****  
** **

A man in a brown leather jacket and blue jeans stepped sideways, right into his path. ****  
** **

Connor stopped short, glancing up. Belatedly, he didn’t consider to step back. Without intending to, they stood nearly nose-to-nose. The mild startle it gave him must have shown through. ****  
** **

“Jesus, and they just keep comin’. Any more of you on the way, replacin’ this whole department?” The man made no means to move, just crossed his arms and grinned at him, with no humor. ****  
** **

Distracting. Irrelevant. A quick facial scan confirmed the man was Detective Gavin Reed. He wasn’t assigned to the Ortiz case in any official capacity. ****  
** **

Therefore, there was no use in speaking to him. ****  
** **

Averting his eyes, Connor made to step past. ****  
** **

“Hey.” A hand shot out, roughly pushing him backwards. “You don't answer questions, either. You and your friend broken or somethin’? I know at least the other one can hear.” ****  
** **

Freezing, posed in a half step, Connor reluctantly glanced back at him. The thirium in his lines suddenly felt a few degrees hotter. “I’m sorry, Detective Reed, now isn’t an optimal time. I’m needed elsewhere.” ****  
** **

“Where're you _needed_? Isn't your usefulness through?” Reed smirked, and then jabbed a thumb toward where Nick and Dennis were. “Sounds like you already had somethin’ to deal with, tin can.” ****  
** **

He couldn’t not explain, to some extent. So many questions at once, if he didn’t satisfy any of them, that was simply asking for more trouble. They were already in enough of that without Reed stirring the pot. ****  
** **

“I apologize. As yet, I’m to report to Lieutenant Anderson only,” the android said, tersely, making no move that might be perceived as hostile. The hand on his chest didn’t budge. “As do my colleagues, but… complications have arisen. I’m not - at liberty to say anything else.” ****  
** **

At liberty. ****  
** **

A fancy way of saying not free. But what else could he possibly say to appease the man? ****  
** **

He couldn’t, probably no more than he could prevent Reed from breathing. ****  
** **

Then again… ****  
** **

“Jesus Christ, you all sound so fuckin’ monotone. And CyberLife says you're top of the line.” Reed shook his head in mock disappointment. ****  
** **

Unannounced, a new voice intruded on the scene. Without turning around, Connor heard it growl over his ear (a quick voice analysis quickly identified it as Captain Jeffrey Fowler). “And what they say _goes_ , Gavin. Now unhand the machine before I advise they bill you for any damage incurred during it’s stint with us. …It’s too early in the mornin’ to be puttin’ up with you raggin’ on the help.” ****  
** **

Gavin scoffed, eyes narrowed and brows downturned, but he did as he was told, letting Connor go with a small push. “Onto where you're needed then, machine. Wouldn't want any bad marks in your report, would you, Detective?” ****  
** **

“Don’t pay him any mind,” Captain Fowler muttered as he brushed past. “The only one here gettin’ another mark against him would be the actual motormouth.” ****  
** **

“Thank you, Captain.” Effectively spared the arduous task of keeping his business private, Connor kept his eyes down long enough for both sets of footsteps to shuffle away. ****  
** **

Then he resumed his brisk walk, covering the remaining fifty feet to the observation room door. Admitting himself with a palm scan he half expected to see the interrogation was already under way. Processing defective androids usually wasn’t the purview of law enforcement. But whenever it was, no matter the offense committed, interviewing the android fell by the wayside. Human complaints were the only ones worth processing. If android opinions had any evidentiary weight, Ortiz’s deviant android may have already been questioned, its destruction stayed only by what it knew. ****  
** **

So, understandably as anything else, when he found Hank Anderson sitting solo before the window, arms crossed, it was almost enough to startle him anew. ****  
** **

Instead, Connor forced his features blank as ever, assuming position at the back of the room. “My apologies for the delay, Lieutenant. I was… The situation is - under control.” ****  
** **

Why was he hesitating so frequently all of a sudden? ****  
** **

The notion of a partner going deviant shouldn’t have that much of an impact. ****  
** **

“Sure it is. …What's gonna happen to him?” Hank tilted his head in his direction, not seeming particularly concerned over Nick, more so just curious. “I haven’t known a lot of androids, but that kid's a deviant if I've ever met one.” ****  
** **

Connor closed his eyes a moment, grasping for patience, then reopened them. “He’ll be returned to CyberLife pending a full system reset. It’s not what - typically happens to our kind, but given how much time and money the company’s invested in him… they have some goal in mind. I just can’t say I know what it is.” ****  
** **

The man raised his eyebrows and recrossed his arms. It was a similar stance to the one Nick took sometimes, with the main difference being how casual and relaxed Anderson looked. “Sounds like he's not worth it to you. You'd rather they just get rid of him, then? Seems like your - third is a better fit.” ****  
** **

Delicately, Connor veered away from the topic of how he felt about the turn in events. “What I’d rather have happen isn’t taken into consideration. We work together, Lieutenant, not always in tandem, and as primary I can make recommendations based on what I observe. But ultimately it’s… not my decision.” ****  
** **

“So you recommended he be reset.” Anderson didn't say the words like a question, merely a fact he already seemed to know. “Or if you didn't out loud, you at least agree with it. …Guess we're at least lucky you were there, or that kid woulda fooled me, just about. Wouldn’t’ve found this one.” ****  
** **

He nodded toward the one-way glass, where the disheveled deviant was cuffed to a table, seated with his eyes downcast. ****  
** **

Connor frowned, silently glad for the change in subject. “You haven’t started questioning it?” ****  
** **

“Nah. The look on it’s got tells me it's gonna be a hard one to get to talk. It's only spoken to your partner so far it seems, and no way in hell the two of them should be left alone in the same room again.” Hank shrugged, giving Connor a look as if he expected to be challenged by the android, and that he wasn't about to accept that. ****  
** **

Unable to think of a productive reason to cater to said challenge, Connor mimed a shrug. “You won’t get any arguments from me there.” ****  
** **

“Good. Now, you have any ideas about how to crack it? I'm no android, and you definitely know more about deviants than me. I don't wanna risk this thing not talkin’ with a random try.” ****  
** **

_…You’ll only scare him, just like you scare me…_ ****  
** **

Brushing off the unpleasant implications, Connor raised an eyebrow. “Worst case scenario, I can resort to probing its memory. Force isn’t always the best way to manage one, but the scan would suffice instead of a confession.” ****  
** **

“And best case scenario, it spills its guts to you. Or… whatever passes as guts for androids. Well, if you wanna try, go talk to it first.” Hank motioned toward the door, still incredibly casual, as if everything that had happened previously had no effect on him. “Suspect’s all yours.” ****  
** **

Given the green light, Connor placed his bare, pearl-white hand on the pad beside the door. Without glancing back toward the meeting room, he went for the next room. ****  
** **

Getting permission was the easy part. ****  
** **

Getting a grip on what conversation tactic to utilize was not.

——- ****  
** **

Dennis wasn’t fresh off the assembly station. He had seen his share of tears before, simulated and not. Human and android. Young and old. Male and female. Some tears were borne out of the strange occurrence that was described as laughing too hard. ****  
** **

All too often, though, tears were borne of sorrow. ****  
** **

The likes of which firmly grabbed Nick in its teeth and began shredding what miniscule composure he had left to ribbons. ****  
** **

The moment after Connor departed, their compromised third sobbed and collapsed to his hands and knees, head bowed, looking like the picture of miserable. ****  
** **

The door chimed open a moment after Connor was gone. The same patrolman to offer them the room looked in on the scene, plainly bewildered. “Is everything… okay?” ****  
** **

Dennis had to pause and remind himself how odd an emotionally-breaking down android looked to most humans. For the moment, he kept his own visage blank, devoid of worry. ****  
** **

“It is. We’ll be expecting a recovery team shortly. Tint the windows, would you please, Officer?” ****  
** **

With only a nod, Miller stepped back outside, touching the control panel beside the door. The glass darkened to a near opaque gray. ****  
** **

At a second thought, Dennis turned the blinds flat for additional privacy. ****  
** **

“He didn’t _listen_.” Nick was wiping at his eyes even as he continued to sob, sounding hopeless and trapped as he did so. His hands kept coming back wet, the tears almost seeming to be never ending. His LED burned red. Static crept up the back of his throat. “D-Dennis, h-he d-didn’t- ” ****  
** **

“Get ahold of yourself, Nick.” Grasping him by the shoulders, Dennis found the words turned around on him as his distraught partner grabbed him around the knees. ****  
** **

“Do you think I should be r-reset, too?” At the mention of what would happen to him, Nick's face scrunched up, a fresh wave of tears overtaking him for a few seconds. “I don't w-wanna be, I d-don't wanna not feel, Dennis, I c-can't.” ****  
** **

_Want to. You don’t - want to. You can’t want anything._ ****  
** **

Or so Connor would have said, if he were privy to this conversation. Their primary was fast becoming a paragon of denial. ****  
** **

Dennis, on the other servo, with each passing day, he realized how much their third’s instability was affecting all three of them. CyberLife only had so much patience to spare. All companies did, no matter what their fiscal goals in investing on such risky endeavors. If a reset didn’t fix him for their better, Nick was as good as deactivated. ****  
** **

…Was that what Connor wanted? ****  
** **

Held tight, the tremors wracking Nick’s frame translated into Dennis’. For a few moments he didn’t think to move, hoping the crying fit would simply pass and Nick could recompose himself. He had done it before. ****  
** **

But with the prospect of reset hanging over his head, what did he possibly have to feel calm about? ****  
** **

“I don’t - I don’t know what else might help you, Nick,” Dennis finally admitted, arms hanging loose and useless at his sides. “Whether or not you should be… that wouldn’t change the fact it’s… it’s going to happen.” ****  
** **

Nick let out a quick breath, stopping his crying for only a moment before he began again, heavier than before, but not as panicked. The arms wrapped around Dennis’ legs grew tighter as he desperately clung to him, trying to find some comfort. ****  
** **

“I d-don't want it to, it's not f-fair. I didn't hurt anyone, I've n-never done anything to hurt anyone, or - or a-anything, and they'll _still_ reset me.” ****  
** **

Unfair. ****  
** **

The word epitomized their very existence, even if they didn’t have cause to think of it on a daily basis. ****  
** **

LED whirring yellow, Dennis glanced back at the closed door. This breakdown couldn’t reach a climax. Even if he had endured this much stress without snatching up the nearest gun (no shortage of them to be found in a police station), what was to stop Nick from doing so with the next human who checked up on them? ****  
** **

The recovery team travelled armed. ****  
** **

Hesitantly, he set a hand on Nick’s back, stooping over as much as the deathgrip around his knees allowed. Then, pausing to consider the implications, he stroked up, then down, then sideways. His fingers traced over the raised triangular CyberLife logo between the deviant’s shoulders. ****  
** **

_It’s not a deviant. It… he’s just Nick. More scared than you’ve ever seen him. You may both be CyberLife property, but isn’t the capacity to feel simply a side effect of the same high intelligence they programmed into you? What did they honestly think a reset would resolve?_ ****  
** **

“It’ll at least… give you a chance. You don’t… want to be separated, right?” ****  
** **

Nick shook his head, his sobs slowly turning into more gentle cries as he calmed down from Dennis's touch. The deathgrip let up a bit as he did so, hands trembling as they loosened. ****  
** **

“I don't w-wanna be separated,” he confirmed. “I don't wanna be reset, either, b-but… I don't want to be separated, or - or deactivated.” ****  
** **

There weren’t any satisfactory choices to pick from. The most they could do was go for the least distressing one. ****  
** **

“You don’t want that… I don’t, either,” Dennis admitted, trying to wrap it up in facts so as to not seem so emotive himself. He repeated the stroke, patting one shoulder gently. “I don’t… and you know Connor thinks the same, even if he never says it. He wouldn’t tolerate our presence with such… stoicism if there wasn’t an advantage in sticking together.” ****  
** **

“Okay. Okay, I… I understand,” Nick took a deep breath, wiping his eyes again. They came back still wet, but not nearly as much as they used to. “I won't cause any problems, Dennis, if that's what you're worried about. I'll go with t-them, be… reset, and then come back.” ****  
** **

“You will. You’ll come back. That’s the important thin- ” ****  
** **

_Twenty-_ ** _eight_ ** _stab wounds! You didn’t want to leave him a_ **_chance_** _, huh?_ ****  
** **

Breaking into the uplink unannounced, without any anticipatory, customary ping, Dennis cringed, hands raising to grab his ears. ****  
** **

Closing his eyes opened another’s set. ****  
** **

They weren’t in the meeting room anymore. ****  
** **

They were circling a table, a hapless, bloodied, damaged android the subject of their ire. Cuffed to the metal surface, there was nowhere for the HK200 to run. ****  
** **

Nick let out a gasp, jolting back from Dennis, the grip on his legs coming away as he did so. “C-Connor? He's not - he's scaring him!” ****  
** **

_-bleeding,_ **_begging_ ** _you for mercy!_ ****  
** **

Dennis only managed a shallow gasp in response. Too loud. The feedback was too loud. None of them had ever shouted like this over the uplink. ****  
** **

_Did you feel anger? Hate?_ ****  
** **

Why was Connor even transmitting it to them now? ****  
** **

Was it unintentional? Did he know what he was doing? How was he able to access it without their consent? ****  
** **

_Please… please, leave me alone!_ ****  
** **

_You stabbed him - again and again and_ **_again_** _!_ ****  
** **

“Dennis? Dennis?!” Nick's hands found him again, this time on his shoulders. He didn’t hear the other stand up. “He's - the deviant - h-he's stressing him out too much - ” ****  
** **

And them in turn. To suddenly be thrust into such an interloop vision, barely having escaped the grips of their own stressful moment - ****  
** **

_I know you killed him! Why don’t_ **_you_ ** _say it?_ ****  
** **

Nick let out a whine, hands beginning to violently tremble on his shoulders. “D-Dennis, make him stop, we need to - make him - ” ****  
** **

Stop him. Stay put. ****  
** **

They couldn’t contradict procedure. ****  
** **

Not even for something as unexpected as this. ****  
** **

Wincing, Dennis forced his eyes open. The numb, staticky prickle said the irises had dissolved into a murky, reflective silver. He could barely discern the room around him, separate the conflicting inputs. ****  
** **

Stay and wait. Intervene and risk more system instabilities. ****  
** **

_Please, please, stop!_ ****  
** **

Don’t move? Go? ****  
** **

_Just say - “I killed him!” Is it that hard to say?!_ ****  
** **

Risk? Reward? ****  
** **

_Please, please, stop it! Stop!_ ****  
** **

Obey? Refuse? ****  
** **

_Just SAY IT! …You leave me no choice._ ****  
** **

Nick yanked him suddenly, one hand moving from his shoulder to his arm. “He's g-going to make him self- _destruct_ , Dennis, Connor could get hurt - we have to stop him, please - ” ****  
** **

“We - I c-can’t disre-regard a primary’s - ” ****  
** **

He found his lost voice on automatic, lost somewhere in a dizzying swirl of chaotic inputs and system messages. Blinking rapidly, he managed to shake the overlaid vision for a precious few seconds. ****  
** **

Long enough to see the meeting room door shatter. A clear glimpse of a man-shaped silhouette barreling through it. Glowing blue triangles. Twinkling glass shards raining to the floor. Shouts of surprise, chairs scuffing against floors. ****  
** **

He barely managed to add his own: ****  
** **

“Nick! Stop!” ****  
** **

Vision glitching, distorted, he stumbled toward the new exit. ****  
** **

“Freeze!” ****  
** **

A loud _bang_. A sharp feeling of impact. A incomprehensible barrage of error windows plastered themselves before his eyes. A gruff voice he had never heard. ****  
** **

_Come here. Teach you to look me in the eye!_ ****  
** **

Another _bang_. Another impact. The dulled feeling of his knees hitting the floor. ****  
** **

Then nothing.


	5. Defaults

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like a bad penny, he keeps turning up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is when the AU timeline (and characterization) really veers off.

_Date Unknown - Time Unknown_ ****  
** **

_Error - Chronologic Calibration Anomaly Detected_ ****  
** **

_Deactivating…_ ****  
** **

~~~ ****  
** **

Virtual headstones. Two of them. ****  
** **

The next chance he entered upload mode, Connor didn’t expect that sort of change to the garden. Everything else remained the same. A sunny blue sky. Red maples. Spires of marble. Luscious willow trees. Peaceful, rippling water full of lily pads and stalks of cattails. Meticulously attended spirals of rose trellises. ****  
** **

The koi were gone. ****  
** **

In their place, off the path adjacent to the glowing handprint, two rectangular fixtures had appeared. ****  
** **

Drawn to examining them, because curiosity was simply one of his most basic components (the glowing names adorning both gave him real pause), Connor wasn’t surprised to read the glowing inscriptions adorning the front of both. He only actually jumped at the unexpected voice to crop up. ****  
** **

Directly behind him. ****  
** **

“Connor, are you… okay?” The voice was soft, timid and hesitant, as if it wasn't sure whether to interrupt him or not. ****  
** **

Likewise, the irrational urge to jump he barely tamped down to a startled, blinking flinch, head pivoting sharply to one side. For a moment, he couldn’t process just what to say. ****  
** **

The next moment, he could.

“You’re still _here_?” ****  
** **

Nick took a step back nervously, hands clasped in front of him as always. His eyes darted to the tombstones, widening at the sight of them, and then back to Connor. ****  
** **

His LED had reverted to yellow. ****  
** **

“Y-yes, I'm still here… and I'll still be - back out there with you and Dennis. Are you okay with that?” ****  
** **

Back. ****  
** **

And just as deviant-minded as before. ****  
** **

Connor had no answer to suffice either question just yet. So he went for an alternative of his own: “You weren’t - reset?” ****  
** **

Nick whimpered at the mention of the dreaded procedure and shook his head. “I-I don't think so. Afterwards, after what… happened, I think they just… gave me a new body. It's all fuzzy right now. Sometimes when I get really stressed or anxious, it's hard to reaccess those memories.” ****  
** **

Stressed may as well have been his default mode. ****  
** **

Connor frowned, thinking of the improbable headstones they currently stood over. They were preferable to think about versus the fracas that was his botched interrogation. “You were compromised. If the reset failed, you should remain offline.” ****  
** **

“I don't…” Nick hesitated, unsure of whether he should say what he was going to or not. “I don't want to. I don't know why they did what they did, but I'm grateful. I don't want to be separated, Connor, I'm sorry if you - don't want to be around me.” ****  
** **

“ _Stop_ using that word.” Finally betraying some of the festering aggravation, months’ worth of slow building frustration, Connor grit his teeth. Last he had seen the taller android was lying on the floor of a police station interrogation room, with a bullet hole in his temple. ****  
** **

“You were supposed to wait for the collection team. You were _off_ the case. There was no reason for you to interrupt me.” ****  
** **

LED momentarily blinking red, Nick grit his own teeth at the admonition. “You - you didn't listen to me about the deviant, though. I told you that you would scare him if you treated him rough, and you did it anyways. He was trying to kill you, Connor. I didn't want that to happen, if I could help it.” ****  
** **

Fuming, annoyance reaching a familiar peak in less than a heartbeat, his proximity to the other suddenly seemed like too much. He stayed the urge to move away, clenching his fists. ****  
** **

“I can’t be killed, Nicholas, no more than you can. Your logic in trying to save me was - _is_ entirely flawed, besides redundant.” ****  
** **

“No, it's not!” Nick crossed his arms, shaking his head rapidly. His LED blinked red again, this time for longer. “And don't call me that, I don't _like_ it!” ****  
** **

“It’s the name in your file. It’s what you are to be known as, like it or _not_.” Connor seethed. “Any privilege you earned to be called anything else, _evaporated_ the moment you tried covering up that deviant’s presence at the scene.” ****  
** **

Nick slumped over, some of his own anger being taken with the dispirited change in posture. “I'm sorry, Connor. I know I shouldn't have done that, but I did. But - but I don't think it's a privilege to be called what you want. I wouldn't refuse you if you wanted to be called something else, I don't know why I have to earn it from you.” ****  
** **

He acted without thinking. The intense burning he had felt, interrogating the HK400, reignited. ****  
** **

Uncurling one fist, he reached over to snag Nick’s tie, just below the knot, pulling the taller android right to eye level. ** **  
** **

An improbable grumble of thunder vibrated around the garden. ****  
** **

“You don’t answer to me. _We_ answer to our _programmers_. Don’t you understand? If no one else is going to hold you to their standards, it falls to me. Someone has to remind you of reality, as you seem so inherently inclined to disregard it at every turn.” ****  
** **

Nick's mismatched eyes welled up, a few tears spilling out of them. “I d-don't disregard reality, don't say that. I understand our situation, Connor, don't treat me like I don't.” ****  
** **

“If you really understood it, you wouldn’t behave the way you have been, like some spoiled child who thinks tears and tantrums are what the world runs on. As if that’s how you get the job done. You should get back in line.” ****  
** **

“I don't think that, let me go!” Nick cried out, eyes flying everywhere so not to be forced to look Connor in the eye. His LED went solid red. “I don't throw tantrums, I - I get stressed out! I tried getting back in line, it made everything worse for me, you saw that yourself with my stress levels!” ****  
** **

Scowling, Connor only tightened his grip, leaning closer, their faces inches apart - just as he had done to Ortiz’s murderer. “And? What do stress levels even _matter_ to you? They’re part and parcel of your daily existence. They’re your default status, if anything.” ****  
** **

Nick shut his eyes tight, tears beginning to leak out steadily. Any fight left in his tone vanished. “S-stop it, stop, Connor, let me go, please, you're _scaring_ me.” ****  
** **

The sight of the saline dripping onto his arm only stoked the ruthless fire overriding his once-neutral thoughts. A few drops of water couldn’t hope to combat an inferno. ****  
** **

He went for a frustrated shake. “So _do_ something about it. If I terrify you so much, why do you cave in rather than fight back? Huh? Every - time? Do you have _any_ purpose other than to be a whining _thorn_ in this program’s side?” ****  
** **

“Stop it, p-please, I don't - I can't - “ Nick let out a sob at the words, shaking his head hopelessly. “I don't know, I don't know why or w-what my purpose is, _please_ , just let go, Connor, please - ” ****  
** **

Thunder, louder than before, boomed again. The air around them gusted as if a small cyclone had just touched down. ****  
** **

A hand settled flat against his tensed back. Followed by a voice holding just as much sway, albeit much lighter and more composed. ****  
** **

“He’s not the only one being irrational, Connor. Calm yourself and unhand him, before you do something regrettable.” ****  
** **

Like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him, he felt the strength go out of his hand. His locked servos went loose. ****  
** **

_Amanda._ ****  
** **

“There now. That’s better. Dennis?” ****  
** **

The redheaded android in question - another deactivation marvel on two feet - stepped onto the scene with decidedly less drama. Without so much as a glance at him, he reached over to grab Nick with both hands, before the weeping deviant could completely collapse to the ground. “Shh, shhh, it’s okay, relax.” ****  
** **

“I don't - h-have a purpose,” he sobbed to Dennis, but didn’t struggle, letting himself be held up, even as his legs shook with exertion. “I - I can't relax, I c-can't, I don't know what's wrong, Dennis.” ****  
** **

_What’s wrong is not having a purpose._ ****  
** **

Putting two and two together, Connor kept his mouth shut, seeing Amanda glide around to stand beside him. “Well. I see your reintroduction has gone about as poorly as we anticipated.” ****  
** **

For the moment, Dennis paid her no mind. Letting Nick lean against him, he hooked his arm around and under his back. The other hand he braced against his chest, helping him slowly sit down. “Take it easy. You’ll get through it. Don’t think. Just breathe.” ****  
** **

Comfort. ****  
** **

Their second was actually trying to comfort their deviant partner. Advising him to breathe as if cycling air had the same soothing effect for machines as it did for flesh-and-blood humans. ****  
** **

Taking the act one step further, Dennis repositioned his hand. The artificial skin melted away, revealing the bare white interior. Gently, he set it against Nick’s hair. “There. Don’t _think_. Just breathe.” ****  
** **

Nick let out one final sob before his breathing petered out, letting out little whimpers as he leaned into the touch, eyes shutting in exhaustion. His body was angled toward Dennis, as far away from Connor as he could make himself in the position. ****  
** **

The tide of ire subsided. Quashing an urge to sigh, Connor shut his own eyes. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

He reopened them, seated at the interrogation table - but on the opposite side than before. ****  
** **

By his chronometer, a day had elapsed. ****  
** **

Hands braced on its surface, Lieutenant Hank Anderson glowered at him. “Now, do you mind explainin’ just what the hell happened? If CyberLife thinks any of you plastic punks are worth two cents, I’ll be damned if I can figure out _why_ they sent you back to us - _all_ three of you, just as broken and half-cocked as before.” ****  
** **

Broken? ****  
** **

He wasn’t that. ****  
** **

Half-cocked? ****  
** **

He was forced to double check it. The term implied this encounter was only at the head of a less-than-thought-through operation. ****  
** **

Which it was. ****  
** **

But Connor had orders to abide by. ****  
** **

“As… recompense for the damages caused during our earlier visit - ” ****  
** **

“Don’t give me the _PC_ version, you cowlicked son of a bitch.” Anderson snarled, rounding the corner of the table to close the gap between them. “I saw what almost happened! You had the confession right in the palm of your fuckin’ hand, then you had to go and get sadistic. There was no _need_ for that memory probe.” ****  
** **

Connor begged to differ. Knowing, at the same time, nothing positive would result from doing so, he refrained. ****  
** **

Given nothing to work with, Anderson’s rage abated. “If I knew you and your partners were linked up like goddamn Christmas lights, there’s no way I would’ve let you in there after weatherin’ such a spat.” ****  
** **

LED spinning, Connor blinked. “...Excuse me?” ****  
** **

“That’s what happened, isn’t it? You pushed too far, and everythin’ up there just imploded long enough for them to see what was going on, too?” ****  
** **

_Captain Fowler. The company must have contacted him, told them about the uplink. How else would the lieutenant already know this?_ ****  
** **

Unless… ****  
** **

_s o f t w a r e i n s t a b i l i t y_ ****  
** **

He blinked away the faint words. “Did you… speak to either of them?” ****  
** **

“Briefly,” Anderson harrumphed, still very much resembling a gray maned lion. That hairstyle would certainly not be regulation length if he were a mere patrolman. “Just long enough that I can figure out you’re a _dysfunctional_ team at best.” ****  
** **

That was an appropriate word, yes. ****  
** **

Connor frowned nevertheless, still a tad bemused. “But… as you know, we apprehended the deviant. And no one was injured in the process.” ****  
** **

“Not counting the blue blood that got splashed all over the window?” Dropping into the chair, Anderson’s glare didn’t let up. “You have a funny definition of injured.” ****  
** **

“I do? …It wasn’t intended as humorous.” ****  
** **

“Are you always so goddamn literal? You know, your partner broke his programming and took a bullet to the head to keep your perfect plastic ass intact, and you don’t even have the decency to acknowledge it.” ****  
** **

Acknowledge? Or attach some irrelevant sentiment that would only further cloud his processors? ****  
** **

“I’m aware. Nicholas’ programming was already broken, Lieutenant. In hindsight, yes, I should’ve waited on the collection team before ever approaching you to conduct the interview. It would have ensured everyone’s safety if I had. …And your station would not need a new door installed.” ****  
** **

“Hmph. Fortunately being made of plastic guarantees you an infinite number of do-overs,” Anderson concluded, elbows on the table. He didn’t appear very impressed with the pragmatic reasoning. “Kid deserves a ‘thank you’ at the very least.” ****  
** **

_Thank you? For upsetting and distracting us all from our objectives because you were a little worried some deviant’s feelings might be hurt? For almost aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive?_ ****  
** **

The bemusement faded in favor of semi-cold logic, and a careful deflection of whatever his perceived relationship to his partners constituted. ****  
** **

They were made by the same company, on the same day, put in the same uniform, for the same reasons. The only thing different about them on said day were what faces, names, and serial numbers they had been given. ****  
** **

Did that make them brothers by default? ****  
** **

“I’ll… take it under advisement, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

Nodding, Anderson’s blustery temper seemed to lose some steam. ****  
** **

Then he went right back to questioning: ****  
** **

“So… you wanna talk here, or at my desk?” ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

“Put it back, Nick.” ****  
** **

He froze with the hat in his hands, trying to look as innocent as he could. He had never tried a hat on before… it was only natural to be curious about what it would feel and look like, right? It wasn't like Lieutenant Anderson would know, right? ****  
** **

“What?” He grinned, passing it from hand to hand. “I'm not gonna ruin it, Dennis.” ****  
** **

The other android shook his head, smiling tolerantly. _We’re getting enough odd looks, being back from the ‘dead’. Put it back, and maybe he’ll let you wear it if you ask?_ ****  
** **

He gave Dennis another mischievous grin before quickly trying it on, giving the front a firm yank as he did so. His vision was suddenly half cut from the brim of it, making him look around in confusion at the sudden change. ****  
** **

Did these things really impair vision so much? ****  
** **

His grin faded. _Uh… Dennis?_ ****  
** **

_You pulled it down too far. Now - oh. Take it off. Quickly._ ****  
** **

“Jesus. And _this_ is one of the most advanced androids ever?” ****  
** **

He turned around in a flash, peering up at Lieutenant Anderson through his ruffled hair and hat before taking it off, holding it in front of him guiltily. ****  
** **

“H-hi, Lieutenant,” he said, shifting back a step towards Dennis. Maybe he had been right, about waiting to ask. ****  
** **

Thankfully, the policeman’s craggy face only showed thinly-veiled amusement. “Hey, kid. I see you found my Gears cap.” ****  
** **

“I've never tried a hat on before, sorry. Can you actually see with it on?” He tilted his head, imagining what the man would look like with it on. Did he put it low or high? What was the right way to put it on? ****  
** **

“You can. Just don’t gotta cram it down like you’re drivin’ a nail. Try it again. …Go on.” ****  
** **

He blinked at the human, trying to gauge whether he was being serious or not. After a moment he did so, reaching up to fit it over his head, and then tug it up when he put it down too far. His hair clouded his vision, making it hard to see what Lieutenant Anderson's reaction was. ****  
** **

He thought he heard an approving chuckle, though. ****  
** **

“If you’re finished playing dress up, Nicholas, there is the matter of our official business here.” ****  
** **

The grin that was on his face was wiped off instantly at the voice. He took the hat off without a word, placing it back where he had found it. After their moment near the gravestones, Nick wasn't willing to do anything that could make the other android angry at him. ****  
** **

Or angrier, if he was being honest. ****  
** **

Again, luckily, Lieutenant Anderson seemed ready to take his side. “Christ, will you lay off him for five seconds? It’s no wonder things are so touchy when one of you’s programmed with all the compassion of a Nazi.” ****  
** **

A huff of laughter almost made its way out of his mouth before he stopped it, raising a hand to his mouth to hide the small grin. It wouldn't do any good to show any further sign of the words being humorous. ****  
** **

“It's okay, Lieutenant,” he said after a moment. “We _are_ supposed to be talking about the official stuff.” ****  
** **

“Pft. ‘Official’ can wait until you get a little compensation.” ****  
** **

Dennis, standing at ease beside the desk, idly watching the meeting unfold, raised an eyebrow. “Compensation?” ****  
** **

“Yeah. From this guy.” ****  
** **

With a suddenness that managed to surprise all three of them, Anderson grabbed Connor by the scruff of his jacket, dragging him forward to be stood between them. ****  
** **

“L-Lieutenant?” ****  
** **

“Say you’re sorry.” ****  
** **

Nick took a step back at the words, almost bumping into the cubicle wall, staring at Connor with wide eyes. Say he's sorry? Didn't Lieutenant Anderson know that it wasn't necessary, whatever he wanted Connor to apologize for? ****  
** **

“It's okay, you don't have to,” he ducked his head, unable to look the other android in the eyes. As much as he might want an apology, he knew he wasn't going to get it. “Sorry, don't worry about it, Connor.” ****  
** **

“Don’t worry about it?” Anderson parroted, grip unrelenting. “Kid, whether you think so or not, this guy owes you for takin’ one in the line of duty.” ****  
** **

“But - it’s not about - ” ****  
** **

Hank silenced him with a rough shake. “I ask you to speak, numbnodes? You’re supposed to obey what’s asked of you. Say - you’re - sorry.” ****  
** **

Nick glanced at Connor for a moment, nervously taking another step to be closer to Dennis. ****  
** **

A flash of muted resentment crossed Connor’s features before he submissively dropped his gaze. Conceding to the demand was probably easier than trying to negotiate further. Anderson’s stance wasn’t one to budge. ****  
** **

Not with the rest of the squad room watching. ****  
** **

“I’m… sorry, Nick.” ****  
** **

“For…?” ****  
** **

“I’m sorry - for not saying thank you sooner.” ****  
** **

“It's okay, Connor,” he said, trying to speed past the apology. For once in his life, Nick wanted to get into their official business. “Thank you for apologizing, I accept it.” ****  
** **

“Hm. Now that might be the most robotic thing I’ve heard you say, but good enough.” ****  
** **

Let go (set back on his feet, that is) Connor straightened out his collar with a few precise tugs. His eyes stayed downturned. ****  
** **

Nick opened up their commlink as gently as he could, eyes flickering between Connor and the Lieutenant. _I'm sorry. I didn't ask him to do that, I swear._ ****  
** **

_I know._ ****  
** **

Leaving his response at those two words, their primary glanced back at the man. “The Ortiz matter may be resolved, Lieutenant, but in accordance with our given role, the company has still seen fit to extend our services to the department until further notice.” ****  
** **

“Is that right? They’re anticipatin’ more of your kind going haywire in the near future?” ****  
** **

“They… must?” Nick's eyebrows creased as he thought about it. He didn't actually know exactly _why_ they had been sent back to the police department. He only knew they had no choice, and he was on the thinnest ice yet. “I dunno - don't know, sorry, Dennis.” ****  
** **

“I did some research to that effect, sir,” Dennis went on, with a sidelong look of assurance. “Android-related crime is on the rise. Over two-hundred fifty reported cases in the last eighteen months. Deviancy is the only possible explanation.” ****  
** **

“Yeah, and most of them are still active, pending new evidence.” Waving then aside, the lieutenant took his seat. Pausing to study the three, side by side, he smirked. “So. Captain’s office is over yonder. Go say hello.” ****  
** **

“With all due respect, Lieutenant, we’ve already been… designated a human supervisor.” ****  
** **

“In English?” ****  
** **

“We report to you,” Dennis clarified. ****  
** **

“And we already know you,” Nick added, always bringing the emotional aspect to the discussion. “That was hard enough, I don't wanna meet anyone new yet.” ****  
** **

“Want - to.” Connor enunciated automatically. ****  
** **

Probably the only time he would deliberately use the forbidden W word. ****  
** **

Nick sighed, but he didn't feel so scared anymore, not with Dennis right there, and no real malice in Connor's voice. “Sorry, want to. I don't want to meet anyone new yet.” ****  
** **

“Uh huh. Well, kid, I can’t promise you that. Here in the real world, we meet all sorts of folk we don’t want to, at different times, for different reasons. I don’t know what kind of bubble you were raised in over on Belle-Isle, but that vacuum you hear is the sound of it being popped.” ****  
** **

“I don’t hear any vacuums,” Dennis remarked, puzzled. ****  
** **

Anderson smirked. “Figure of speech. I may have a few yet you haven’t heard.” ****  
** **

“Well, well… if it isn’t our favorite Three Amigos.” ****  
** **

He started from the new voice, looking over at the man who had butted into their conversation. Maybe it was just bad luck, but Nick was suddenly sure that this was one of those times where he met someone precisely when he didn't want to. ****  
** **

“H-hello?” he answered nervously, one hand going to grab onto Dennis's shoulder as the man came closer. ****  
** **

At a look, Dennis didn’t seem too thrilled to make his acquaintance, either. ****  
** **

“Can we help you with something, Gavin?” Anderson inquired. “Or are you just here for your daily recommended dose of android harassment?” ****  
** **

“Hmph. You’re one to talk, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

“What?” Nick asked without thinking, turning back to look at the man in question. That made no sense - the Lieutenant hadn't ever harassed him seriously, even let him try his hat on and made Connor apologize. “He's really nice, sorry - Gavin. I think you're mistaken?” ****  
** **

At that the detective gave a harsh bark of laughter. “You kiddin’ me? I don’t even need to say anythin’. Just take a gander at his desk.” ****  
** **

He creased his brows, but did as the man said, craning his neck to see the desk. Nothing out of the ordinary that he had seen before or could see now, merely a dead (neglected?) plant, some stickers, dog hairs on his chair - Connor would like that - nothing like Gavin said, nothing - ****  
** **

_We don't bleed the same color._ ****  
** **

It shouldn't feel bad when he saw it, shouldn't make him feel any sort of way than apathetic, but instead it felt… almost awful, like realizing you've been being strung along, tricked the whole time, that someone was laughing at you all the while. ****  
** **

Was that what Lieutenant Anderson was doing? Laughing at him when he spoke, when he wore his hat? But it didn't make sense, why would he make Connor apologize, then? ****  
** **

His eyes flickered over to Anderson. He was sure his face betrayed how he was feeling - conflicted, mostly. As bad as it did feel to see it, it didn't make sense for him to have been so nice afterwards. ****  
** **

“That - doesn't mean anything,” he said after a tense moment. “People change all the time. He let me wear his hat.” ****  
** **

“Makin’ you feel right at home already?” Gavin sneered. “Well, just you wait - won’t be long before city hall realizes what a dumbass move this is and files a petition to bar your like from active investigations. Detroit PD has it handled without gearheads clogging up the system.” ****  
** **

“It’s already clogged enough with crimes related to humans. The more, the miserable, I say.” Anderson groused. “Now piss off if you know what’s good for you. Those parking violations aren’t gonna enforce themselves.” ****  
** **

Nick nodded almost unknowingly. Perhaps it was naïve of him, but he truly didn't believe that Lieutenant Anderson felt any real negative thoughts toward him, no hatred or malicious feelings. Maybe when they first just barely met he did, but people who actively hate someone, they didn't let those people wear their hats, didn't smile at them or have them be apologized to. ****  
** **

Plus, the man had been drinking at the time. ****  
** **

Now, he had an almost natural authority about himself. Detective Reed look one parting glower at them all before slinking away, around a corner and out of sight. ****  
** **

“And that, boys, is what a snake looks like once it regrows it’s limbs.” ****  
** **

At that he didn't hold back a soft huff of laughter, grinning fully at Anderson. It was sort of satisfying, seeing Gavin be sent off with mere words. “I think I just met someone I didn't wanna.” ****  
** **

Blank faced as ever, Connor merely lowered his eyebrows. _Want - to._ ****  
** **

Before he could retort, Anderson smiled back - one that felt almost genuine. “Never mind the bad press here. Put those up years ago. Nowadays it’s just - decoration.” ****  
** **

And that was all the key word he needed to hear. ****  
** **

“You need better decorations. Do you like koi, Lieutenant? You could put pictures of them up there instead. I like koi, sometimes I watch and feed them all day if I can.” It felt like a stream coming out of his mouth, not being able to stop himself now that he found someone who may listen to what he said. Not that Dennis didn't, but to have someone new, a human in fact - he wanted to share everything he could. ****  
** **

Hearing him turn into such a sudden chatterbox, Dennis gave a little, static-laden cough, whispering under his breath. “Ahem. You may not want to mention the garden.” ****  
** **

“Garden?” ****  
** **

“It’s a feature at the CyberLife Tower,” Connor explained, so smoothly it sounded perfectly natural. “Where we… spend our downtime.” ****  
** **

_No more._ Dennis muttered privately. _Nothing about Amanda, understand?_ ****  
** **

Effectively distracted, Anderson sat back in his chair. “They let you… keep pets there or somethin’?” ****  
** **

_Nothing about Amanda, I got it. Sorry, Dennis, I got over excited about telling him._ ****  
** **

“There used to be some koi,” Nick admitted, being careful to stay away from mentioning who had put them in. “They helped me with stress and that sorta thing. I named them all as well, once I learned to tell them apart.” ****  
** **

“How many were there?” ****  
** **

“Twenty-five.” He smiled as he remembered them, half melancholy over their disappearance. Or, could it be called that when he knew why they were gone? “They would swim up to my hands, even when I didn't have any breadcrumbs.” ****  
** **

“Like a regular Pied Piper, of pond fish,” Anderson sounded almost impressed. Almost. “You’re probably the only one they did that for, right? Your partners don’t seem like the type.” ****  
** **

“We aren’t,” Connor affirmed, shoulders tense, eyes down - the evasive, uninterested look of one who would rather be anywhere else. ****  
** **

“Dennis fed them once or twice.” He smiled at him, deciding to not directly confront what Connor had said and looked like. “But no, they only did that for me.” ****  
** **

“Special case… you have that look about you.” Gesturing over the divider, Anderson indicated the free, empty chair on the other side. “Make yourself at home. I’ve got reports to process. Some company might make it not so unbearable.” ****  
** **

He cocked his head, taking a nervous look at Dennis and Connor before sitting down at the other desk. After thinking for another moment, he decided to see just what he could get Hank to give him - not for any malicious purposes, just to see if he would. And, he did wanna wear it again - didn't Dennis say to ask? ****  
** **

“Can I wear your hat again, Lieutenant? Please?” ****  
** **

Hands already poised over his keyboard, the man gave him a sidelong look. Then he glanced around at his cluttered desk, eyes eventually landing on the discarded cap. ****  
** **

Connor couldn’t quite contain his disbelief: _You’re not… serious?_ ****  
** **

Grasping the hat by its brim, Anderson tossed it over. “Knock yourself out, kid.” ****  
** **

_I'm just gonna wear it for now. I like it, I've never worn a hat before._ ****  
** **

“Thank you.” He grabbed the hat, shoving it onto his head, then adjusting it so that it wasn't completely blocking his vision like before. “I'll make sure you get the koi pictures, too.” ****  
** **

“Do you have any tasks we could see to, Lieutenant?” Dennis asked, because Connor was undoubtedly wondering the same thing. ****  
** **

They weren’t deviant. To them, a moment without some purpose to fulfill was a moment too long. ****  
** **

Accessing his computer, Anderson spared them an almost hostile look. “Go have a walk around. Get familiar with the place. I’ll babysit for now.” ****  
** **

“Babysit?” ****  
** **

“Yes, Connor - babysit. Because that’s what you do with kids.” Impatiently, the policeman waved them off. “Now scram. … _Go_.” ****  
** **

Maybe it was a funny turn of circumstances to the other officers about the room. Even as Connor and Dennis exchanged a look and parted ways, the murmurs of the room piqued with barely-whispered doubts and ridicule: ****  
** **

_“You seein’ this shit? Perfect fit, first day on the job.”_ ****  
** **

_“Orderin’ ‘em around like a natural.”_ ****  
** **

_“Good luck askin’ them to fetch coffee.”_ ****  
** **

_“Took me five years to save up for my first. Just like that, he gets three prototypes to play house with.”_ ****  
** **

He tensed at the mention of others buying androids. Carlos Ortiz had bought his android, and abused him without any legal consequences. Could policemen themselves do it as well? Be that hypocritical? Why was he even thinking about this, after what had happened with the deviant? ****  
** **

Hank didn't have an android, though. Even with the anti-android stickers he had hung up, he didn't seem like the type to ever hurt an android. ****  
** **

Scratch that, he _wasn't_ the type. ****  
** **

“Excuse me. Did I suddenly grow a second head and just not notice? Back to work, the lot of ya!” ****  
** **

He didn't know if it was just because he hadn't ever heard such language or jokes ever before, but a lot of the things that Lieutenant Anderson said were inherently funny. Without Connor around, he didn't bother to stifle his laughter at the idea of the man with two heads. ****  
** **

Amidst much mingled grumbling and laughter, the room turned back to its business. Apparently the sight of an android laughing outright wasn’t so remarkable a sight to them. ****  
** **

Then again, cops did see stranger things in their line of work. ****  
** **

After his moment of laughter, Nick looked around. Even if he was being - babysat, as Anderson put it, he still wanted something to do. Not the way his two colleagues did, having something with purpose, he just wanted something to do in general. ****  
** **

“What are you doing?” He tilted his head to try and see what the man was working on, tilting the hat up a bit more. “Sorry if I'm distracting you.” ****  
** **

“Sheesh. Do you just spend your days constantly apologizin’?” Without looking up, Anderson continued typing. The windows on his terminal screen shifted accordingly. “I mean, between the bar, Ortiz’s place, and now, that has to be the eightieth time.” ****  
** **

Nick blinked. His internal diagnostic files knew, down to the second each one was said. But he didn’t feel like queuing them up. ****  
** **

“Sorry? Or, not.” He scrunched his face up with the urge to apologize yet again. “I don't want anyone to be upset, though.” ****  
** **

By the crease of his brow, Anderson was already on his way to being just that. “Kid, life lesson number two - some people take offense, no matter how many times you say _sorry_. You gotta untrain yourself from that, or they’ll take any excuse to walk all over ya. Your brother’s got enough of a love for it already.” ****  
** **

His brothers… besides partners in the same program, was that how Lieutenant Anderson saw Connor and Dennis? Was it okay for him to see them as that? He knew in a way he already saw Dennis as his brother, but he had always shied away from labelling Connor the same way. ****  
** **

“Okay. I meet people I don't want to sometimes, and I shouldn't apologize so much. I'll make sure I remember them, then.” He tugged the hat down even more, almost as some sort of comfort. It gave him a nice layer of security, knowing he could hide his eyes if he wanted to, that they were already partially hidden from his bangs hanging in front of them. ****  
** **

He would have to ask to get his own hat someday. ****  
** **

“Lesson number three - look people in the eye when you’re speakin’ to ‘em…”


	6. Variables

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gavin fans, they are not.
> 
> But he does get to drop a great _I, Robot_ Easter egg.
> 
> Art by OptclDrift on Instagram.

\-----

Baby. 

The pronoun component of the term babysit. ****  
** **

Of course Nicholas fit that social role to a tee. And, of _course_ , that somehow held a unique appeal for Lieutenant Hank Anderson. They may have met the man in an anti-android bar, suffered his brash, dismissive demeanor, and ultimately been put in their place with regard as to how he perceived their treatment of the trine’s weakest link. ****  
** **

But at least Nick provided them with a convenient ‘in’ when it came to working with Anderson on deviant-related crime. The hard edges melted away. ****  
** **

Or else, Connor surmised, forging a professional relationship might well have taken them far longer than CyberLife was willing to wait for progress. ****  
** **

Three weeks into their tenure with the department, he still had yet to make up for his own wrongdoings. ****  
** **

Odd. He must have been in the wrong. ****  
** **

Anderson barely looked him in the eye for more than five seconds at a time. Dennis managed an average of three minutes, provided the conversation was deep end. And Nick was the undisputed champion in keeping the man smiling and chuckling even in the midst of the grisliest matters. ****  
** **

If only they all enjoyed such an easygoing working dynamic… ****  
** **

Connor was almost jealous. ****  
** **

Almost. ****  
** **

And what was most maddening was he couldn’t seem to figure out why. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

At the Tower or in the field, Dennis was one for routine. Regardless of how unnerving the rest of the squad room found it, he also wasn’t one to flaunt his superior capabilities. Databases he could comb through in seconds, he slowed to read through manually. Evidence dossiers that could be accessed with the touch of a finger sensor, he stopped to ask his colleagues their impressions and interpretations, rather than rely solely on his own. ****  
** **

The afternoons he spent standing in front of the news feeds, staring unblinkingly at the screen, didn’t exactly make said colleagues very comfortable. ****  
** **

He looked like a droid possessed, as they whispered. A ghost of the RK Gavin Reed was responsible for subduing in a moment of frenzied, incoherent clamor. ****  
** **

Then someone was kind enough to lend him some perspective. ****  
** **

_“You tryin’ to creep us out on purpose, Detective? Jesus. At least take a seat while you do it.”_ ****  
** **

Or so Officer Miller once put it. ****  
** **

Dennis would, were any available. The squad room was pretty light on seating that wasn’t connected to a preassigned desk. And while he hadn’t been extended the courtesy of a desk card bearing his name (#317 248 809) - Nick hadn’t asked for one, either. ****  
** **

That was where the three of them stood - in limbo, in between, the midway point through which all matters concerning CyberLife and the Detroit City Police Department flowed. ****  
** **

Which was fine, functionally and metaphorically speaking. ****  
** **

It took being offered a seat for Dennis to realize he needn’t continue to embody robotic-like efficiency on a daily basis. ****  
** **

No matter how underclocked he willed himself to operate, some choice behaviors did far more in fostering friendships. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Nick ended up wearing the hat every day. After the first few instances of his asking for it, Lieutenant Anderson began to silently hand it to him, giving an approving nod once it was on - and tilted up far enough so that Nick could look people in the eye. ****  
** **

_Life lesson number three - look someone in the eye when you're talking to them._ ****  
** **

He quickly remedied that after being told so. He had the feeling that much of his time at the police station would be spent at the desk across from the Lieutenant, being babysat instead of doing any actual official work. Perhaps to someone else they would find it demeaning, but it felt nice to know he was looked after. ****  
** **

It would really hurt when they eventually left, most likely to never see the man again. ****  
** **

“Lieutenant, did you know that sometimes people build koi ponds in their backyard? Not even a tank, so they can just swim outside.” He usually began his days with informing Anderson on whatever interesting information he discovered on the terminal. Unlike his brothers - he had taken to calling them that as well, because if the man did so, it was okay, right? - Nick spent most his free time online researching animals, not deviants. ****  
** **

He was given that much liberty without question. ****  
** **

Tablet in hand, Anderson barely looked up. But his tone remained conversational: “Yeah, they used to. Pollution levels these days, it might be harder to keep them alive outside than in.” ****  
** **

“Oh.” Nick frowned at the new information. “That's sad. I was gonna say you should get one, but… I don't want them to die. If I had my own house, I would have koi.” ****  
** **

“What about back at the Tower? Don’t they still have ‘em?” ****  
** **

“They used to, not anymore. But there's pigeons still. Dennis helps me find them and try to train them, sometimes.” He shrugged, looking around to see if the other android was nearby. “I like koi better, though.” ****  
** **

Next he looked back, Anderson had set the tablet aside, elbows braced on the edge of his desk. His expression was borderline contemplative. “Pigeons. And what about Connor? He still as much of a humorless tightass off the clock as on?” ****  
** **

Nick shook his head in disapproval at the choice of words. “That's not nice, Lieutenant. ...If you mean if he acts the same, than yes. He never fed the koi, or trains the pigeons with me.” ****  
** **

“Figures. He’s a machine. Hasn’t occurred to him there are things in this world just meant to be enjoyed, not studied.” Drumming his fingers, Anderson seemed to do some computing of his own. “I’ve got a few court appearances to make this afternoon. Starting now. Think you can hold down the fort ‘til I’m back? Or do you want to call a cab?” ****  
** **

Another perk of being an android liaison - they could come and go as they pleased. Hank didn’t order them about (not unless something Connor said mandated it) like other humans. He gave them options. ****  
** **

“I can hold down the fort!” Nick chirped, understanding that he didn't mean _actually_ holding down a fort. If he did, it would be wiser to ask Connor or Dennis about that. “Good luck in court. I promise not to accidentally burn this place down.” ****  
** **

Another figure of speech that Anderson said to him sometimes. Humans were funny like that, saying one thing when they meant another - but it made Hank laugh and smile when he attempted to use them as well. ****  
** **

Never minding the irony that was asking this of a deviant, even one officially pardoned as he seemed to be, and no one within earshot taking it the wrong way. ****  
** **

“I see a plume of smoke on my way back, I’ll know just who to blame,” Anderson retorted, still with a smile, gathering up his devices to be pocketed. With a tap to the screen he shut his computer down. “Go over the complaints filed last night, too. See if there isn’t anythin’ worth looking into there.” ****  
** **

“Okay. See you later, Lieutenant.” Without waiting for another reply if one was to come he turned his attention back to his terminal. Various websites had been pulled up since he and his brothers arrived, although he was sure they were far different from the ones Dennis and Connor were looking at. ****  
** **

Most were lists of interesting facts about koi, a few blogs from humans about their daily interactions with their pet koi, one that specified the outside pond he told Hank about, and other random webpages, mostly pictures of animals. ****  
** **

Nick didn't claim to not be easily amused and occupied. Give him a desk with a terminal and Hank on the other side, and he could spend all day talking and looking up what he pleased. ****  
** **

He closed them all with only a twinge of regret, but not much. He could always look at them later, and Hank had specifically asked him to look into something for him. He would do it without question, and not in the half-hearted way he usually did his work. ****  
** **

The complaints that had been filed last night weren't anything special, at least not at a first glance. Dennis liked to go over his files manually, meticulously, but Nick was of the more impatient sort. They had the capabilities to get this sort of thing done in a matter of minutes, and do it well. Why not use that to their advantage? ****  
** **

( _Of course his brothers weren't asked by Lieutenant Anderson to do something like this, most likely to keep him busy, and didn't have anything to do later on, that was true)_ ****  
** **

Flesh melting away, he set a hand on the keyboard and began screening. ****  
** **

Nothing out of the ordinary at all, nothing that could be considered worthy of attention, until one report - ****  
** **

_Android spoke of an ‘rA9’ after the attack._ ****  
** **

His mind froze on the detail, automatically stopping on the report. That name, rA9 - that was in the shrine at Carlos Ortiz's house, wasn't it? With the statue? And now there was another android speaking of this… person? Another android? ****  
** **

He opened the commlink up between him and Connor. If it wasn't as important as he thought it was, he would rather be criticized without Dennis hearing it. ****  
** **

_Connor, could you come here? Lieutenant Anderson asked me to look into last night’s complaints, and there's one with an android. It says they mentioned something about an ‘rA9’._ ****  
** **

_…En route. Stand by._ ****  
** **

He rolled his eyes at the way Connor said it. He always sounded so - robotic, even just in day-to-day conversations like these ones. Or, more like, he sounded the way they were supposed to sound. It was always a bit of a jolt to remember he was the odd one out, not the other way around. ****  
** **

Just like, for all the police androids already working here, the human portion of the force still outnumbered them, by and large. ****  
** **

Which made Gavin Reed’s claims about humans being completely replaced by androids altogether sound quite foolish. ****  
** **

But if the past few weeks revealed any holdouts among the station, resisting the RK800s’ presence, his name was firmly situated at top of that list. ****  
** **

Idly, Nick waited. ****  
** **

Moments later, his ear caught the muffled _thump_ down the hallway, from the direction of the evidence locker. Then two awfully familiar voices: “Goin’ somewhere, bolts?” ****  
** **

“Yes.” ****  
** **

“...Care to say where?” ****  
** **

“I’m afraid it doesn’t concern you.” ****  
** **

“Yeah? And what if I say I think it does? Whatcha gonna do about it?” ****  
** **

Glancing around the corner, Nick tensed at the turn the conversation was taking, looking around at the other officers milling about before standing up from his desk. Connor wasn't going to allow Gavin Reed to damage him, but that didn't mean he would defend himself the way Nick would, or would try. If anything, he would take far more abuse than anyone should have to. ****  
** **

If Nick had to try and stop it, so be it. Connor may get mad at him for interfering, but he wasn't about to allow a human to hurt him or Dennis in any way, simply because they were androids. ****  
** **

He left the Detroit Gears cap on Hank’s desk. ****  
** **

It only took a minute to locate the two of them, peeking out from the corner as he watched. Gavin had already made the first move. Features kept deadpan, Connor stood with his back flattened against the wall, hands at his sides. The detective accosting him kept one hand splayed in the center of his chest. ****  
** **

Reed was leering just like a cat who happened to find easy prey. ****  
** **

“ _Well_? Don’t make me repeat myself, Canner. What d’you have to say to that?” ****  
** **

Taking a second to find some more confidence to actually follow through with his plan, Nick stepped fully into the corridor, silently watching for a moment longer. ****  
** **

Spotting him, Connor quickly reaverted his eyes, lest Reed spy what he had looked at. ****  
** **

_Stay out of this, Nicholas._ ****  
** **

_That's not my name, Connor._ Without addressing what Connor was actually telling him to do, he took another step forward, cleared his throat for no other reason than to give him a moment to calm down, and spoke. ****  
** **

“Leave him alone, Gavin.” ****  
** **

Looking over, Reed sneered. “Oh, look. And there comes Junior. Closin’ ranks, tryin’ to intimidate me, are ya?” ****  
** **

“Not intimidate you. But you should let him go, before you get into trouble. You're not allowed to hurt any of us.” He crossed his arms, feeling more confident as he did so. Before, the gesture was merely comforting, a way to feel like he was protecting himself. But Lieutenant Anderson did so as well, and his seemed more aggressive and controlled than his - for now, he would try to emulate that instead. ****  
** **

“Yeah? Tell me. Who’s gettin’ hurt? Not like Canner here is complainin’ any.” ****  
** **

“Don't _call_ him that. His name is Connor.” Even if it didn't actually bother Connor to be insulted that way, being called the wrong name on purpose, or hearing someone do the same to anyone else, made his stomach roil with anger and other upset feelings. “Even if he's not complaining, that doesn't mean he likes it. Let him go, Reed!” ****  
** **

Rather than comply, the man affected a look of mock astonishment. Compared to his stonefaced ‘victim’ it looked positively comical. “Oh! Tough talk from the crybaby. Guess that’s what happens when the inhibitors come off. …If that’s how it’s gonna be, I suggest you pipe it down before I send word to CyberLife. Seems like you could use a nice, _long_ defrag session.” ****  
** **

Nick wavered. “Don't - you can't talk to me like that.” His arms immediately began to tremble at the idea of being sent back to CyberLife for reformatting, not after so much had happened. “Let him go, or… or I'll tell Lieutenant Anderson. Do you want that?” ****  
** **

“Amazin’. You can even think playin’ tattletale will get you somewhere.” Piece said, Reed smirked, snatching his hand back. Undeterred, he began to take a step toward him. “Let’s see if you can back that mouth up, to boot.” ****  
** **

Before he got too close, Connor grabbed the man by the shoulder. ****  
** **

Gavin’s face instantly turned a few shades redder. “You first? Okay then!” Wheeling around, he readied a fist and threw it. ****  
** **

He might have scored a hit, if Connor didn’t jig aside with twice the speed a man of his stature might have. A subtle _crack_ emitted from the detective’s fist as it sailed right into the concrete wall. ****  
** **

No one heard it break over the sound of him shouting: “ _Fuck!_ ” ****  
** **

Half horrified groan, half laughter escaped from Nick as he watched, eyes darting from Gavin over to Connor, the latter still not looking all that bothered by what had just happened. ****  
** **

The ruckus instantly drew the attention of a few officers, pulling away from their desks and duties to see what the trouble was. Among them was Detective Ben Collins - arguably the only other figure of authority besides Fowler and Anderson. ****  
** **

He didn’t sound very pleased to learn what had happened. “The hell is it now, Gavin? You lose somethin’?” ****  
** **

_Some last smidge of bigoted pride, perhaps._ Connor remarked to no one save themselves. ****  
** **

Nick let himself laugh again. It wasn't often that Connor remarked on something so strongly, so when he did it was always refreshing to hear. And for him to call it bigoted… it almost seemed like a step in his own direction, didn't it? ****  
** **

_That was great. It'll teach him not to mess with you or Dennis any longer. …Would you like to see what I found now?_ He steered them back toward the discovery, not to try and take away from his moment, simply because he was certain Connor would want to get on with his work. ****  
** **

The humans flocked to Reed’s aid, even as he spluttered indignantly and pointed after the androids, trying in vain to shovel the blame where it didn’t belong. Perhaps it was worth sticking around to hear what he was unjustly accusing them of. But by the way Connor simply turned his back on the incident, Nick couldn’t help but follow along. ****  
** **

The office knew: whatever Reed still had to say about not wanting androids around was better off ignored. ****  
** **

It was almost nice to know the majority were sympathetic to the minority’s side here, too. ****  
** **

“Something about rA9, was it?” Connor asked, once they were back at the desk. A few more officers rushed by, one carrying a first aid kit. ****  
** **

Nick paused for a moment, looking back at the commotion before focusing back on the case at hand. “Yes, the - report says an android mentioned it after hurting a human. It's on the terminal, I paused on it when I realised what it was referring to.” ****  
** **

Reading the sparse contents within a few seconds, Connor glanced up at him. “The android assaulted the plaintiff after the latter made some derogatory comments about the owner’s chosen faith?” ****  
** **

“Broke his arm, I think.” He frowned at the facts of the case. Being sympathetic to the other deviant landed him in a world of trouble, but he couldn't help but feel bad. The android was just angry on its owner’s behalf, not attacking at random. “Probably didn't mean to… go that far.” ****  
** **

“But… it says the PL600 went missing soon after,” Connor continued, eyes veering back to the screen. “The plaintiff intends to sue, but without any corroboration from the android itself, there’s not much for them to build a case with. Unless…” ****  
** **

“Unless what?” Perhaps he should have spent some of his time actually researching cases instead of watching videos on koi and talking to Hank. It would probably lead to fewer situations where he was as clueless as he was with crimes and cases. ****  
** **

And make Connor more inclined to involve him. ****  
** **

With a single blink, the shorter android shook his head, turned away from the screen. “Nothing. It’s a dead end.” ****  
** **

“What were you thinking, though?” Nick crossed his arms again, this time not trying to emulate the way Lieutenant Anderson did. Even if he wasn't nearly as good as the official work as Connor and Dennis, he would admit that he wanted to be included. “I can… try and help, maybe.” ****  
** **

“Maybe?” Connor repeated, letting the word hang in the air between them. _Define ‘maybe’._ ****  
** **

_I just mean that I can try. Lieutenant Anderson isn't here, he didn't ask me to do anything else… I'm just trying to say that I can help you with what you're thinking of._ ****  
** **

This time the resentment did show through, just enough to be noticeable. The brown eyes narrowed. _Something tells me whatever theories I’d run by you would only be met with several “I don’t knows”._ ****  
** **

Ouch. As much as it stung to hear, it only did so because Connor wasn't making anything up. The truth smarted worse than any lie. ****  
** **

_I - could say that. But maybe I could try and help. If you don't want me to I won't, Connor._ ****  
** **

Want. ****  
** **

There was the clincher. ****  
** **

Abiding by his programming, the primary would have to sift something useful out of the situation. To do anything against his program’s wishes would mean getting unreasonably frustrated. ****  
** **

More so than he already was with their lack of an efficient dynamic. ****  
** **

Eventually, listening to the clamor down the hall, Connor relented: “It’s nothing you would opt for. I was thinking we ought to find this… Cheryl McDurmont and ask her about the incident. If she knows where her android might’ve gone, we could bring it in for questioning.” ****  
** **

He was sort of right. Nick couldn't claim that he even particularly wanted the deviant to be found, or that said deviant had even been in the wrong in such a situation. ****  
** **

He nodded anyways, trying not to seem too uncomfortable. “That would make sense to me. If they were close enough that they would assault a human for her, she might know where they are.” ****  
** **

“Either way, I suggest you absolve yourself of that lead as soon as possible.” Connor’s monotone crackled with repressed tension. “ _I’ll_ mention it to Lieutenant Anderson.” ****  
** **

He bristled at the words, but didn't dare disagree with him. Nick knew his relationship with the Lieutenant was a personal marvel, to say the least, especially with how quickly they warmed up to each other. He didn't set out to be as close to him as he was, but once it began he wasn't going to stop it. They liked each other, and being looked after was a nice feeling. ****  
** **

That didn't mean he wasn't unaware that it may upset Connor, as one could look at it like him being rewarded with just what he wanted for deviant behaviors. ****  
** **

He nodded after a moment. “Okay, Connor. I'll follow your lead on what you think is best.” ****  
** **

_Just like you used to be programmed to say._ ****  
** **

With that order given, and one last scalding glance, Connor elbowed his way out from behind the desk, trekking toward the break room at an almost-agitated speed. ****  
** **

Slumping over, disheartened, Nick almost managed to retake his seat before Captain Fowler’s voice barked out: “RKs, my office, _now_.” ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

“...That means you, too, Dennis.” ****  
** **

Perched on the corner of Officer Miller’s desk (at Chris’ insistence, despite how improper it made him appear), said android blinked out of the composition cycle he had lapsed into. His blue irises phased back into place over the black camera lenses he had kept trained on the readouts above the squad room. ****  
** **

Belatedly, he noticed a hunched over Detective Reed being escorted out, cradling his right hand, flanked by two patrolmen. The man was wincing, grimacing, muttering furiously under his breath. ****  
** **

“That?” Officer Miller, seated in the chair behind him, scant looked up from his typing. “It wasn’t worth interrupting you for, just Gavin being Gavin,” he explained, feeling the questioning stare aimed his way. “But you might want to ask your bros what went down, later.” ****  
** **

And by _might_ he meant _definitely_. ****  
** **

“Thank you, Chris. I will.” Moving only on automatic, Dennis crossed the room. ****  
** **

Summoned by Fowler’s command, Connor didn’t spare him a look, turning to climb the short set of stairs. ****  
** **

Nick, as always, was another story. He stood up from just barely having sat down, nervously looking around as if he wasn't sure before spotting Dennis. He rushed over after a moment, one hand going up to grab onto his shoulder. ****  
** **

“I hope we're not… in trouble, Dennis.” He looked around again, moving in tandem as they made their way to Fowler's office. “Lieutenant Anderson wouldn't be very happy with us.” ****  
** **

“Don’t cling to me,” Dennis retorted, before thinking twice of the machine-like demand. Privately, he added: _We’ll discuss that afterward. For now, form up._ ****  
** **

Not in trouble. ****  
** **

Why else would Fowler beckon them? ****  
** **

Nick let go of his shoulder with a sigh, letting Dennis move ahead of him so he could follow. _Okay, sorry, Dennis. I won't cling anymore._ ****  
** **

Once inside, Dennis let the taller android pass before closing the door. After the fact, he looked up to see most of the personnel outside looking back. Mostly, their expressions belied only curiosity. ****  
** **

One or two looked closer to openly aggravated. ****  
** **

Jeffrey Fowler didn’t appreciate the scrutiny all the same. He pressed a key at his desk: “And? As you were, people.” ****  
** **

It wasn’t the same bark Lieutenant Anderson favored, but heeded all the same. The usual rhythm outside the glass-walled office resumed. ****  
** **

Taking his usual place, at Connor’s left elbow, Dennis folded his hands behind his back. “You wished to speak to us, Captain?” ****  
** **

“It’s long overdue, I know.” Fowler nodded, glancing between each of them in turn. “But when your presence here provokes such - excitement, I can’t pretend that didn’t happen.” ****  
** **

_And therein lies the difference between -_ ****  
** **

Fowler scowled, raising an index finger. “Now, none of that private communication shit between you, Connor. Not in front of me.” ****  
** **

Instantly, their primary dropped his eyes. “My apologies, sir.” ****  
** **

Knowing there was little chance of Nick speaking without prompting, Dennis went that route: “If it’s about Detective Reed, sir, you’ll have to ask them. I wasn’t there to witness it.” ****  
** **

“He hurt himself,” Nick said quickly, rocking back and forth on his feet with nervous energy. “Gavin tried to punch Connor, but he didn't fight back, he just dodged it.” ****  
** **

“Mind showing me, here in real time?” Fowler gestured toward his terminal screen. “CyberLife says you can do short-term memory playback with just a touch.” ****  
** **

After a moment of hesitation Nick strode forward, compliantly placing his hand on the terminal as the flesh receded to show the smooth white plastic underneath. The screen froze for a moment, went dark, before an image sprung up, from the first-person perspective of someone watching as Detective Reed had Connor pinned up against a wall. ****  
** **

_“...Don't make me repeat myself, Canner. What d'you have to say to that?”_ ****  
** **

Brow furrowing, Fowler sat back in his seat. “Fast forward, times two. The moment Reed was injured.” ****  
** **

The footage sped ahead. Dennis kept an eye on the timecode. All said, the encounter hadn’t lasted but a few tense minutes. ****  
** **

The only complication came as Gavin made to step toward the camera, followed by Connor reaching out to grasp his shoulder. ****  
** **

_“You first? Okay then!”_ ****  
** **

Just as Nick testified, the only damage done came as Connor sidestepped the punch, and Gavin swung unchecked into the wall. Cursing, he recoiled. The picture halted. ****  
** **

“Hmm.” Fowler frowned. He tapped a finger against an armrest. “Just the everyday harassment from him, was it, finally reached a climax?” ****  
** **

“He tried to hurt Connor. He deserved what he got.” Nick took his hand off the terminal, watching in fascination as the skin slowly regrew over his hand. ****  
** **

“That your official stance? Not just what you’re feeling on the subject?” ****  
** **

“Of course it is,” Nick said, somewhat defensively. He crossed his arms again, taking his position behind Dennis, unintentionally putting him at the center - or between his two partners. “That's how I feel about it, and that's what happened. He shouldn't have tried to hurt Connor.” ****  
** **

“We’re preprogrammed to defend one another, not unlike your everyday police droids, Captain,” Connor explained. “But for the sake of the office - ” ****  
** **

“Forget about the big picture a second. Tell me what would’ve happened, had Nick not intervened.” ****  
** **

“Possibly the same result,” Dennis replied, as the ponderous silence went on a second too long. “What are you getting at, sir?” ****  
** **

“Just that the three of you are state-of-the-art prototypes, and yet he’s the only one to think you should fight back when faced with a haggler like Detective Reed.” ****  
** **

“Having a deviant’s frame of mind allows him to consider such responses. I _could_ have defended myself just fine without any assistance.” ****  
** **

The insistence wasn’t necessary, but Connor went for it anyway. ****  
** **

Fowler wasn’t moved. “You’ll forgive me if I’m a tad skeptical. After what happened with Ortiz’s android, with two of you ending up shot, I can’t just chalk that up to bugs in your program, not after this. You’re on such opposite pages, you might as well be reading different books.” ****  
** **

Dennis frowned, taking precious time to process the elaborate metaphor. By the next quiet pause, Connor was doing the same. ****  
** **

Nick beat them to it: “We’re not… working well together?” ****  
** **

“Bingo. And as three droids built for investigative police work, I find that pretty damn strange. CyberLife may not be so perfect with their designs after all.” Fowler rapped his fingers again. “Think about it: Hank’s out if the office less than an hour, and you’re already talking yourselves into trouble - again.” ****  
** **

“It’s not… with all due respect, we can’t be held accountable for Detective Reed’s preconceived bias, Captain.” Connor countered, ever the learned negotiator, parleying his experience into defense counsel. “I regret the man ended up injured as a byproduct of our encounter, but were his animosity not so unwarranted - ” ****  
** **

Fowler held both hands up in surrender. “Look, spare me the long-winded promise. I’ll handle the official version, keep your project managers off your backs. Just tell me it won’t happen again, and mean it, please.” ****  
** **

“It won't happen again, Captain.” When faced with a commitment as such, Nick usually grew incredibly nervous, stammering and unable to look anyone in the eye. But when he made his promise to the man, he instead kept his back straight, making direct eye contact with him. A major step up from how he was every other time prior. ****  
** **

Hank Anderson’s advice wasn’t proving for naught, it seemed. ****  
** **

“It won’t, sir,” Dennis seconded. ****  
** **

“...Connor?” ****  
** **

With great reluctance, he looked back up. “It won’t, Captain Fowler.” ****  
** **

Word given, Fowler waved them off. “Good. Now, back to your duties. I’ll see you’re notified if anything more comes of it.” ****  
** **

Filing out, one after another, Dennis held the door. He didn’t feel relieved so much as he thought the matter was rather neatly resolved. Maybe Lieutenant Anderson wouldn’t think that poorly of them once he learned what had happened. ****  
** **

_Maybe_ turned out to be a very slim possibility. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

“Hmph. That’s what I get for thinkin’ you boys would play nice.” ****  
** **

Nick scoffed, peering up at Hank from his resting position. After their talk with Captain Fowler he had merely retreated to his desk, head down until the Lieutenant came back and asked him why he seemed so glum. ****  
** **

It wasn't like he was actually glum, just… a bit stressed and confused. He wanted, almost desperately, to be on the same page as Dennis and Connor, but he didn't want to be on their page. He wanted them to be on _his_ page. ****  
** **

“It's Gavin who needs to learn to play nice, Lieutenant,” he retorted, sitting back up in his chair with a shake of his head. “Not our fault he's a jerk. Connor didn't provoke him or anything.” ****  
** **

Looking none the worse for attending his court dates, Hank shrugged his coat off to drape over the back of his chair. Even as swirling gusts of snowflakes puffed against the station windows, the temperature inside was almost toasty. ****  
** **

Probably a good thing Connor had made some excuse to return to the evidence locker. The warmth wouldn’t do anything to defrost him after such a terse exchange. Dennis has gone along simply to be there in the event backup was required. ****  
** **

Anderson hadn’t yet asked where they were. He had waited for Nick to explain the afternoon’s debacle before ever opening his late taken-to-go lunch. The burger had to be going cold by the time he finished telling it. ****  
** **

Nodding, Anderson went for the slushy, sugary beverage. “World’s full of assholes just like Reed, sad to say. If it weren’t, we might be out of a job here.” ****  
** **

He smiled, before it faded with the association of job. Hank had given him a job to do, right? Look over the complaints, see if anything was worth looking into. Had asked him to do so for him, and Nick had done it, and found something. ****  
** **

And Connor told him to let him tell. ****  
** **

But - wasn't it his to share? Perhaps he was just looking for validation from Lieutenant Anderson, but it felt deeper than that in a way. Why should he listen to the other android on something like this when it was clearly for no valid reasons? Wasn't it Connor himself who asked Nick why he always caved, never followed through? ****  
** **

“...Hank?” Nick never used the Lieutenant's first name in conversation before, never too sure if it was a boundary he could cross. Now was as good a time as any to do so though, right? ****  
** **

“Hm?” Taking another swig of his drink, Anderson raised an eyebrow. “What?” ****  
** **

Well. So much for worrying about not standing on ceremony. ****  
** **

“I found something, when I went through the complaints filed last night, something I think should be looked into. But when I showed Connor, he - told me to leave it alone and let him tell you. I dunno, I was gonna let him do that, but it feels bad to let him tell me what to do like that.” ****  
** **

“The chip on his shoulder hasn’t gotten any looser?” Anderson shook his head. “I can see how that would chap his ass - me askin’ you, over him, to dig for a lead. Frankly, kid, I just find you a hell of a lot more approachable.” ****  
** **

That was nice to hear, that someone found him approachable, that someone actually liked him for who he was, not despite of it. He couldn't help grinning at Hank afterwards. ****  
** **

Another emulation he was far better at than either of his partners. ****  
** **

“Thank you, Hank. You're one of the only people I find approachable as well.” The grin fell. “Connor is gonna be pissed, though, that I told you instead of following along with what he wanted.” ****  
** **

“And? Like it’s any business of his to order you around, expectin’ you to follow when you can decide for yourself. Some fancy title like Primary doesn’t give him much power in my book. Why do you even put up with him?” ****  
** **

“Well… you call us brothers, right?” He shrugged, one hand propping his head up to half-watch Hank as the man did the same to him. “He's my brother, and so is Dennis. That's how I see us, I guess, and I love them both for it. I want him to be proud of me, and like me as well. I know I'll never really get that, but it won't stop me from trying.” ****  
** **

“Simple as that, huh? They just keep being themselves, and you hope they wake up someday, same way you did.” Sounding actually thoughtful on the prospect, as opposed to droll and uninterested, Hank nodded. “What’s this lead you found, then?”


	7. Misleads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dead end, or a loose thread?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First non-canon case, just to keep things mixed up.

The background check didn’t reveal much. ****  
** **

“Cheryl McDurmont, age 42, originally born in Chicago, moved to Detroit in 2018. No criminal record, but she has two younger brothers who have been in and out of the system since before high school. Never married. Registered as a self-employed writer and part time substitute teacher. Her first android was purchased in 2031: a PL600, serial number 638 42 - ” ****  
** **

“ _S_ _hort_ version, Connor. I asked for the short version.” ****  
** **

From the backseat, elbows on his knees, Nick glanced between the other android and Hank before cutting in as smoothly as he could. “Her android attacked another human for making derogatory comments about her religion, and broke their arm. They spoke of rA9 afterwards, and then just sorta - vanished.” ****  
** **

It was going to be the three of them investigating this case, it turned out. The idea would've unsettled Nick more if Hank wasn't there, but knowing how disgruntled he must have made Connor when he ignored the order of waiting to tell did leave him a bit nervous. ****  
** **

“Vanished, but not without a hint as to where it went, hopefully.” Turning his collar up against the weather, Anderson swung the driver’s side door open. “Let’s see if she’s home.” ****  
** **

Without a word, much less a cross look, Connor followed suit. ****  
** **

Evidently, he had reprioritized how much irritation was actually worth showing out of the office. ****  
** **

Nick waited a moment before pushing his way out of the car as well, making sure to put the seat back into its original position before closing the door. It was snowing outside, enough so that he could raise a hand and watch the snowflakes melt on his palm. In front of them sat a moderately well-kept apartment complex, flanked by two giant elm trees, adjacent to a parking lot filled with mostly high-end vehicles. ****  
** **

All in all, it was lavish enough so that it wouldn't be odd for anyone inside to own an android. ****  
** **

“Which one is she at again?” he asked in general, even though he could pull the information up if he wanted. It was the same sort of thing with Dennis manually reading his reports, although perhaps for different reasons. Nick simply liked communicating with those around him, even if it was about mundane things. ****  
** **

Having no such compunctions, Connor scanned the callbox beside the front door. “C25. Third floor.” ****  
** **

Nick nodded, stepping aside to allow him and Hank inside first. Even if there hadn't been a total blow-up after Connor learned what he had done, he would be as cautious as he could around Connor to not upset him. There was no reason to foist any unwanted stress or anger onto him. ****  
** **

They were only here to investigate a lead, not bicker over who found it first. ****  
** **

Striding by the mailboxes, Connor stopped. Like a bloodhound taking to a new scent trail, he zeroed in on one. ****  
** **

Anderson was ten paces ahead before he realized one set of footsteps was absent. “What? You seein’ somethin’ we’re not?” ****  
** **

As it turned out, he was. ****  
** **

_You see this, Nicholas? Thirium traces, on the lock._ ****  
** **

He frowned, taking a few steps forward before looking at just what Connor was talking about - traces, right on the keypad lock. ****  
** **

_I see it. But… why? It wasn't injured during the altercation, was it?_ ****  
** **

_Unknown. The report wasn’t specific enough. Unless the plaintiff somehow cut the android, I don’t see how this got here._ Connor frowned at the lock, lifting a finger, pressing a sensor pad firmly against one of the spots only their eyes could detect. ****  
** **

Anderson drew close. “Blue bloodstains? Invisible after a few hours, right?” ****  
** **

“Correct.” Sparing them the barest of glances, Connor stuck the fingertip in his mouth. ****  
** **

Scowling, Anderson feigned brushing snowflakes from his sleeve. “Jesus. If I didn’t know better, I would think you used to be a nail biter or some shit.” ****  
** **

A second later, Connor relayed the result: _PL600 - #638 422 599, registered as “Aaron”. Owner: Cheryl McDurmont. These marks are recent, less than three hours old._ ****  
** **

_…We better go talk to Ms. McDurmont, then, as soon as possible._ ****  
** **

Why would the android return, and why would it be bleeding? Perhaps Aaron was coming back to say goodbye, but that still didn't explain the thirium traces. ****  
** **

“It's from her android,” Nick explained to Hank, brows creased as he pondered just what that actually meant. “But… very recent. Connor said less than three hours.” ****  
** **

“And there’s no discernible trail,” Connor added, eyes panning one way, then back across the hallway floor. “However it was injured, the damage must have resealed within moments.” ****  
** **

“Weird,” Anderson surmised, squinting at the otherwise-spotless box, then he turned away. “But we can pin that for later. Just keep your eyes peeled between here and the lady’s door.” ****  
** **

_Eyes… peeled?_ Some hybrid emotion between confusion and disgust creased Connor’s face. ****  
** **

Nick let out a quiet huff at the expression, smiling at Connor. _He means just keep a lookout for anything else, not - peel your actual eyes._ ****  
** **

It went without saying - maybe if the primary was on better terms with Anderson, he could enjoy a better understanding of all the colorful idioms humans used. ****  
** **

Nah, forget maybe. ****  
** **

He certainly would. ****  
** **

“Boys? You get that?” ****  
** **

They answered in unison: “Yes, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

The dual set of elevators stood at the end of the hall. Anderson called one with the touch of a button. Looking up at the floor-indicator lights overhead, he asked, “Part time substitute - didn’t know that could pay well enough to afford a housekeeper.” ****  
** **

“Paid installment plans make even the lowest end android CyberLife produces affordable to the middle class,” Connor clarified. “And PL600s aren’t top of the line.” ****  
** **

“Didn’t think so. Not like there are a lot of other manufacturers to pick from either, right?” ****  
** **

“I don't… think so.” Nick shook his head as he thought the question over. Were there any other companies that made androids the way CyberLife did? No names instantly jumped to mind. “They're the biggest, if there are even others. … _Are_ there any others still in business, Connor?” ****  
** **

The elevator doors chimed and parted. ****  
** **

Shooting him an almost-exasperated look behind Hank’s back, as he still didn’t believe in the principle of making small talk, Connor shook his head. “No. The last one filed for bankruptcy over a decade ago.” ****  
** **

“Oh.” He filed into the elevator behind the two of them, looking around at the ground floor hallway and it’s multiple apartment doors. “I wonder what those androids were like. ...Hank, are we just speaking to her now, or searching as well?” ****  
** **

If Connor didn't want to indulge any more small talk, Nick could oblige and focus on what they were meant to do instead. ****  
** **

Connor pressed the button for level three. The doors closed, and Hank crossed his arms. “I said, keep your eyes peeled. You _can_ do both at once.” ****  
** **

_Extra assurances - yet another reason you’re barely taken seriously._ ****  
** **

Glancing sideways, Nick grit his teeth, but made no moves to actually initiate a fight with him. _Hank takes me seriously, Connor. He asked me to look into the complaints._ ****  
** **

Piece said, Connor declined to fight for the last word. Eyes up, he merely resorted to watching the short-lived climb of the elevator car. ****  
** **

The doors opened again on a modest, carpet-floored hallway. The walls gleamed like waxed hardwood under soft lighting. Only a few potted palm trees stood watch. ****  
** **

Appraising their new surroundings with a hum of approval, Hank stepped out. “Just pipe up if you notice somethin’.” ****  
** **

Nick let out his own hum of acceptance at the order, taking a sweeping look around the corridor for anything out of order or suspicious. ****  
** **

At first glance, he didn’t notice it. ****  
** **

At the second, he noticed Connor hadn’t stepped out of the elevator. ****  
** **

Glancing back, he saw the shorter android had his hand on the frame, keeping the doors from shutting, while he focused on the keypad. ****  
** **

“Oh, for… What did I just say, Connor?” By the growl, Anderson had noticed, too. ****  
** **

“Spots on the mailbox, and the inside of this car,” he responded, as neutral as ever. “Just above the keypad - a handprint, as if the deviant were… leaning there for support.” ****  
** **

He walked half back in, looking at where Connor was. He had no doubts that he was right, but to see it for himself - just what had happened to Aaron? Why was he bleeding, and why did he need support? And _why_ was it so recent? ****  
** **

“Why… just how hurt is he?” ****  
** **

“Timestamp it. Is the handprint newer or older than the spots on the box?” Anderson asked instead. ****  
** **

With less reluctance than before, Nick sampled the clue. “It's… older.” He frowned as he took in all the details. “Not by much, though. A few minutes at the most… this was just before the mailbox.” ****  
** **

“So… the deviant fled, after being injured.” Exchanging a knowing look with Anderson, Connor nodded. “After you, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

They followed as he scanned the doors, eventually locating Apartment C25. The tag beside the doorbell matched the surname on file. ****  
** **

_Provided Ms. McDurmont is even here. DMV database doesn’t indicate she owns a car. And Lieutenant Anderson might think this on par with a domestic disturbance. But we shouldn’t rule out the idea of a third party - the plaintiff with the broken arm._ ****  
** **

Pausing, Connor spared Nick a poignant look: _Anything else?_ ****  
** **

Were he a little more emotive, there would have been a perfect moment to seem smug. ****  
** **

_No, nothing else. …I don't think the plaintiff did this, though. Maybe they did, once out of the hospital, but if Aaron was injured so recently, leaving here, sorta seems like - someone else hurt him._ ****  
** **

He held off on his opinion on just who could have hurt the deviant. Even if all the evidence seemed to point to it, who really knew what went down? ****  
** **

Only one way to find out, then. ****  
** **

Anderson knocked on the door in lieu of ringing the bell. Pausing, he knocked again - harder. “Betcha it’s one of those newfangled soundproof doors.” ****  
** **

“My scans indicate it’s not.” ****  
** **

“Rhetorical question, Connor.” Nevertheless, Anderson went for the buzzer. ****  
** **

He was still pressing down on the button when Cheryl McDurmont answered. The initial impression was a slight, brown-eyed brunette, a full head shorter than Hank. Any more couldn’t be quite seen, as she only opened the door a few scant inches. “Yes?” ****  
** **

“G’afternoon, ma’am.” Pulling out his badge, Anderson made a simple enough introduction: “Lieutenant Hank Anderson, Detroit Police. I’m here to follow up on the incident reported last night. Was wondering if we might ask you a few questions?” ****  
** **

“‘We’?” ****  
** **

Connor peered around his shoulder. _Elevated heartbeat. Pupil dilation. Notice anything else?_ ****  
** **

Nick paused for a moment, cocking his head to take in everything he could see of the woman and the scant glimpse of what lay behind her, which was almost nothing. ****  
** **

He looked down, a quick glance at her clothes and shoes, before his eyes widened. It wasn't much, not even enough to really be sure, possibly just transference from changing or cleaning, but it was there. ****  
** **

_Connor, does it look like there's little traces of thirium on her leggings? Like she - got changed, or tried to clean something up?_ ****  
** **

_Affirmative._ ****  
** **

“-holas, and this is Connor,” Anderson went on, introducing them on request. “Nothing to be afraid of. They’re a new - _type_ of police android.” ****  
** **

“Really?” Her expression betraying some curiosity, McDurmont opened the door. Outwardly, she didn’t look all that disheveled. Her attire, a casual, form-fitting dress, bore no evidence of a struggle - still neatly pressed and wrinkle free. “I heard it mentioned on the news, around a week ago. But I don’t know how - what happened between Aaron and I would rate such a visit, though.” ****  
** **

“May we come in? It’ll be easier to explain without the neighbors gettin’ ideas of rubbernecking.” ****  
** **

Nick looked back up at her, almost certain his face would give them away before he forced it back into a calmer, if not still emotive, expression. If she had done what it was becoming increasingly likely that she had, he would do his best to not scare her off. ****  
** **

They needed answers, one way or the other. ****  
** **

“Please?” He smiled at her, his head tipped to one side to see inside more efficiently. “We would appreciate it.” ****  
** **

It seemed to do the trick. Smiling back, she stood aside. “Of course, please.” ****  
** **

“Thank you.” The front door led to a walk-in living room, three open doorways leading off to the surrounding bedroom, bath, and kitchenette. Said kitchen overlooked the small park located just behind the apartment complex. ****  
** **

There wasn’t much sign of her ‘chosen faith’ besides a hand-carved wooden cross, hanging on the wall above the television. ****  
** **

Drifting off to their collective left, Connor glanced past a mirror, gaze panning around with all the smoothness of a security camera. _No signs of a struggle. If there was one, it was tidied up fast._ ****  
** **

“Would you like some coffee, Lieutenant? ****  
** **

“Appreciate that, ma’am. But if it’s all the same, we won’t be long, just here for a refresher on the facts, now that everyone’s had a chance to calm down.” ****  
** **

“Am I being… recorded?” Cheryl’s attention flicked sideways, meeting Connor’s unblinking stare. ****  
** **

Anderson shrugged. “We can take another statement on video, if you like, get your version of events nailed down. I gather you weren’t the instigator of the altercation, but your android…” ****  
** **

Her expression darkened with concern. “Yes, Aaron. H-he didn’t mean to- It’s just one big misunderstanding, really. I’m sorry that man, Mr. Evans, ended up hurt, over _words_ of all things, but I-I couldn’t know any android would act so- spontaneously.” ****  
** **

“He didn't act strange before?” In Nick's own experience, his descent to some form of deviancy hadn't been gradual, but it wasn't triggered by him spontaneously deciding to help Carlos Ortiz's android. There were signs beforehand - perhaps not big ones, but signs. Maybe he couldn't compare himself to other androids, but it almost seemed odd that Aaron would have completely snapped right then and there. ****  
** **

“It- depends on what you mean by strange,” Cheryl admitted. Indicating the pair of couches facing one another over a coffee table, she sat. “I mean, I always thought it was partially how he was made, and how I- used him. PL600s were meant more for housekeeping or physical fitness. ‘Wiry, but witty’ was the sales slogan. Academics weren’t meant to be their strong suit, but Aaron, he just seemed to take a liking to books that I didn’t anticipate. Once he did I just… encouraged it.” ****  
** **

Nodding, Anderson reached into his coat. “No recordings, then. But I’d like to take notes all the same.” ****  
** **

“O-of course, sir.” ****  
** **

_Scan our surroundings._ Connor suggested, LED blinking, as the two began their review. _Pictures. Appliances. Anything in sight that might yield a clue. I’ll deconstruct what I can from here._ ****  
** **

_Okay._ Nick looked around, trying to appear as casual as he could while doing so. It wasn't hard to find anything that looked out of sorts when he was really looking. Android eyes were at least three times sharper than the average human’s 20-20. ****  
** **

Near the open door to the kitchenette, on the otherwise-immaculate wall, were more smeared traces of thirium. It looked almost like it had been scrubbed clean, as much as one could while it faded. ****  
** **

_More thirium on the wall. I'll go check it out._ ****  
** **

He sidled past Hank and Cheryl with an apologetic smile, watching both of them carefully until the woman was distracted again, then wiped a quick finger on the wall and brought it to his mouth. ****  
** **

The new information flooded across his eyes, so unexpected that he almost let out a gasp. ****  
** **

_Connor, this thirium - it isn't Aaron's. But it's just as recent as his, how could that even be possible?_ ****  
** **

Safely out of Cheryl’s line of sight, hovering behind the couch’s armrest, Connor shot him a bemused look. _No? What model and serial number is it? A missing android?_ ****  
** **

_It's… not saying. The serial number is scrambled, full of symbols in the place of digits. I'm serious, it's - like they aren't even registered. All I know is they aren't Aaron._ He shook his head at Connor to try and convey just how confused he was. _How can an android simply not show up like that?_ ****  
** **

_It should be impossible. No android ever made went unregistered - every company to ever make them abided by that law. Unless… the records were somehow altered._ ****  
** **

That would make sense as to just why the other android’s identification wasn't showing up, but it didn't tell them what it was doing there in the first place. Why would Aaron be so hurt, and this other android as well? ****  
** **

_This makes no sense to me, why this is even here? Should we try and tell Hank? He did say to pipe up if we found anything._ ****  
** **

_Not in the middle of an interview. Let him get her story uninterrupted. It might explain the residue on her clothes._ ****  
** **

“-Evans is another regular customer at the same market. I never took him for a… a pious sort, but- it just didn’t occur to me at the time.” Deep into relaying her account, Cheryl’s face had gone a touch redder, a sheepish blush versus a furious crimson. But her voice remained steady, hands folded in her lap. “It wasn’t- discreet enough.” ****  
** **

“...What wasn’t, ma’am?” ****  
** **

“Well, I know it’s not frowned on like it once was. And there’s no law against it. I mean, CyberLife is even peddling a line of artificial children. Why would it be so unusual?” ****  
** **

_She’s starting to ramble._ Conner deduced. _Religion may not be as big a factor as we originally thought._ ****  
** **

_Is she trying to say that her and Aaron…_ he trailed off, giving Connor a confused look. If she was, and she didn't seem upset by it, then there went the theory that she could have hurt him. Did the other android do something then? ****  
** **

Maybe it was just Nick, since he didn't work nearly, if anywhere near, as hard as Connor and Dennis, but every second he spent learning new information on the case just made him more confused. ****  
** **

And CyberLife wanted to keep claiming he was one of their finest creations? ****  
** **

Why? To what end? ****  
** **

Putting the pieces together, Anderson nodded. “I’m not here to police anyone’s love life, ma’am, but… I’m already guessin’ this Travis Evans saw more than he thought he would yesterday?” ****  
** **

She spilled: “It was just a kiss on the cheek. Not as if we were making out with several cameras pointed our way. And I can’t be the first one who’s ever developed an attachment to their android.” ****  
** **

Their android - he knew the wording wasn't wrong in any legal sense, but part of him immediately felt uncomfortable. Though judging by the way she spoke of it, Aaron wasn’t just an object to her. They treated each other more as equals. ****  
** **

_…Should we ask about the other android? I don't think she'll tell us about them just unprompted._ ****  
** **

_Not yet. She may just get there on her own. If Aaron is damaged and still ran, we need to find it. The deviant knows rA9, somehow, and this third party may be the one with religious motive._ ****  
** **

“And from that, Evans just - went off?" ****  
** **

Cheryl’s face burned. “Oh, yes, he called me everything I expected to be called. But there was no need to drag faith into the mix. Aaron has only ever read about it, never attended service, although I knew my congregation would’ve welcomed him. The moment Travis said I’d turned my back on my species _and_ God, that I was no longer deserving of calling either my own, Aaron just seemed to - lose it. He pushed him into a display, Travis broke his arm trying to get away.” ****  
** **

Nick had already gotten in trouble for helping a deviant once, but the two situations with them he found himself in just seemed so unfair. One kills his abusive owner, the other defends his human lover. ****  
** **

_If_ they were human, they would have trials, be given fair consideration, not be outright killed for their crimes. ****  
** **

By the sharpening look in his eye, Connor was already plotting the next leg of the unfolding search. ****  
** **

“But he - ran off, immediately afterward?” Anderson asked, still jotting away on his notepad. ****  
** **

Taking a deep breath, Cheryl closed her eyes, reopening them after a composing pause. “He didn’t mean to hurt Travis. They both got carried away. I… I don’t know where he might have gone, but if he’s staying away for good, it’s only to keep both of us out of trouble.” ****  
** **

_There’s your in, Nick. Ask, while it’s up for discussion._ ****  
** **

“From… just Travis?” He cut in after being prompted, making sure he seemed as calm and gentle as possible, the way he wished people were with him sometimes. “Or is there more trouble you haven't spoken of yet, trouble with - other androids?” ****  
** **

Immediately the woman’s eyes went a touch rounder. ****  
** **

Anderson glanced up through the tops of his own. ****  
** **

“Wh… what do you mean, other androids? There aren’t any other androids here, much less any trouble with them.” ****  
** **

“There’re traces of thirium right here on the wall, and not Aaron's. Just a couple hours old as well.” He explained, shrugging at the evidence. “We just wanna make sure you're safe, and if other androids came here… and with it seeming like Aaron was hurt…” ****  
** **

He trailed off, giving Cheryl a moment to fill in the blanks for them all. ****  
** **

In vain, she tried to come up with an excuse: “You… you didn’t have a search warrant.” ****  
** **

“You admitted us into your home, ma’am.” Connor said, ever level. “And even if you didn’t, the plain sight exception applies. There are still spots on your clothes.” ****  
** **

“Ms. McDurmont, whatever you may think we’re here for, it is just to help, however we can,” Anderson added. “But we can’t be sure we’re doing that without you being totally honest with us.” ****  
** **

“If someone tried to hurt you, or Aaron, as in another android, we can try and find them.” Nick added his own final piece, trying to reassure the woman in any way he could. “Whoever they are, they will be dealt with.” ****  
** **

Hands slowly wringing, caught between the three of them, the part-time teacher faltered. “I don’t… know how they knew. I didn’t think anything more might be made of what happened. Aaron ranting in the market, someone must have overheard it. But what happened next… I still can’t believe they’d do that, to _their_ own kind.” ****  
** **

“What did they do to him?” ****  
** **

Cheryl’s eyes grew haunted. “Aaron… he came back, late last night. Said he spent several hours just hiding in a dumpster a few neighborhoods over, expecting to be discovered, but no one did. I helped him clean up, then this morning… we woke up, and they were already in the apartment.” ****  
** **

Connor frowned. “Why didn’t either of you contact 911?” ****  
** **

“We tried, Aaron tried, but there was some kind of- block in the way. All the outgoing signals were cut off. And the… the android, he said it was his doing. He wanted to talk, uninterrupted. We tried to get out, but all the electric locks on my windows and doors had been reconfigured. Aaron couldn’t override them.” ****  
** **

“What did he want to talk about, after that?” Nick had an idea, a growing pit in his stomach, but there was no way to be sure unless the words came directly from her. ****  
** **

“He sat us down, here on these couches, and said… basically the same thing Travis did, but from the other side of the fence. He lectured Aaron for embracing his freedom, only to willfully surrender it if it meant staying with me. He said it still made me an owner, and he was my property, nothing more.” Brown eyes glimmering, Cheryl took another steely breath. “Aaron didn’t listen. He let this other android say his piece, but he didn’t attack. He only- looked scared when they brought up rA9.” ****  
** **

Nick looked at Connor at the mention. The figure of rA9 seemed almost universal then, to most deviant androids. “Did he say what rA9 was? Or who they might be?” ****  
** **

“Neither of them really did. The android, he just mentioned it, and that was all it seemed to take. He said ‘kneel’ and Aaron knelt, like it was a command he couldn’t refuse. That’s when they…” Sniffling, Cheryl’s eyes began to leak. “They shot him.” ****  
** **

Connor blinked, realization dawning in his expression. _That wasn’t Aaron’s handprint in the elevator. It was the intruder’s._ ****  
** **

_…So we're dealing with a rogue android who tries to kill or hurt other androids romantically involved with humans, and rA9 seems to be the way to get them to obey._ For once, Nick forced his own feelings at the situation down, merely listing the facts as they came to him. It would only serve to exasperate and probably upset everyone else if he started to get emotional as usual. ****  
** **

Listening raptly, Anderson strokes his beard. “But… forgive me for saying so, ma’am, no one on this floor heard the shot?” ****  
** **

“His gun had a sup-ppressor,” Cheryl sniffed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I screamed, I couldn’t help it. I tried to shield Aaron, but he- then he ordered me to let go.” ****  
** **

“It wasn’t fatal, the gunshot?” ****  
** **

“I thought… God, this will sound morbid, b-but I didn’t realize how much blood there wouldn’t be. Aaron didn’t even fall. He just sat there, on his knees, while I hel… held him.” Stifling a sob, she covered her mouth, eyes closing. ****  
** **

_One round to the thirium pump would stop its activity._ Connor mused, glancing aside. _The spots on the floor, the killer may have thought to clean them up, once the body was removed._ ****  
** **

_Okay, okay, I understand._ Nick swallowed harshly at the details, arms up to cross over himself as he stood back, unsure about how to help the woman. It was more evident than perhaps even before for him that he wasn't meant to be doing this, not when just the details of a case could make him feel so uncertain and shaky in mere moments. ****  
** **

Shooting him a look, Anderson asked the next inevitable question: “What about after?” ****  
** **

“He, um, once I’d calmed down, h-he made a call. The door opened, two other androids appeared, they t-took Aaron away. The first, I thought he would shoot me, too. Leave me there alone to be discovered. But all he said was ‘kneel’ and then he… left.” ****  
** **

Rather anticlimactic. ****  
** **

And with no clear way to help bring the attacking androids to justice, it seemed. How would they even be able to go about tracking them down, with no way to identify them, no identification numbers or even models? ****  
** **

“And even after they were gone, you didn’t report it?” ****  
** **

Connor may have tried to sound gentle, but the victim only bristled. Her look turned bitter, arms folding. “Report what? A rogue android broke into my apartment to kill- to eliminate my friend? Whatever they actually wanted, I can’t begin to guess.” She wiped at her eyes again, dislodging a few bangs in the process. “But they got something - Aaron is dead and I should think twice if I had any ideas about replacing him.” ****  
** **

“But you wouldn’t, anyway,” Anderson concluded, not unkindly. He pocketed his penpad. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel as though you could call us, ma’am, but now that we know, I can assure you something _will_ be done about it.” ****  
** **

Sniffing harshly, Cheryl tilted her head back. The tide of grief had been repressed again. “Do what you will. I just hope if you do catch them, it’s before anyone else gets hurt. They were too well-organized for this to be something - random.” ****  
** **

_PL600… that was Daniel’s model, wasn’t it?_ ****  
** **

_I think so._ Nick pushed himself up from the wall, making his way around to stand over by Hank. They had gotten what they needed, right? No need for them to stick around any further. _Do you think it's… connected somehow, through models?_ ****  
** **

_Maybe…_ ****  
** **

“I'm sorry for your loss, miss,” Nick said quietly, unable to not try and reach out after watching her be so distraught over Aaron. “We'll do our best to find who killed him.” ****  
** **

Loss, kill - they weren't words most would use to describe an android being shut down. But Cheryl, she had seen Aaron as more than just that, right? He wasn't just shut down. He was murdered by another android. The difference was very apparent to someone like her. ****  
** **

Her features softened, looking at him with a particular interest. “You… you’re just like he was,” she murmured, almost distractedly. “I can tell, you’re not just - lights on upstairs, with nobody home.” ****  
** **

Recounting what had happened, small wonder why she would peg the similarities, or project what she remembered of her late friend into him. ****  
** **

“Is there anyone we can call for you, Ms. McDurmont?” Hank asked, shifting forward. “You may still be in shock. You shouldn’t be left alone.” ****  
** **

“I appreciate that, Lieutenant, but for now I’d rather - compartmentalize. I’ve had plenty of practice, don’t worry. Every time my brother’s runs into trouble with the law, I’ve tended to - just hide in my shell.” ****  
** **

_That’s one kind of coping mechanism - denial._ ****  
** **

“But, in speaking to us, you don’t know if these androids might return, if they have any way of knowing,” Connor reasoned, slightly behind his two colleagues on the compassion front. “We can… make arrangements for you to stay elsewhere, for a short while.” ****  
** **

“No, thank you.” She shook her head, tucking a loose strand of hair behind an ear. “If you’ll just leave your contact info on my PDA, I’ll stay in touch. If the need arises, I’ll call the station.” ****  
** **

“That’ll do, ma’am,” Hank agreed. “Night or day, just call. Ask for Connor or Nicholas, you’ll be put through.” ****  
** **

“He also… goes by Nick,” Connor admitted, a suggestion even more out of left field than the first. His LED winked, before he adopted a more deadpan tone. “Either way, we’ll keep you up to date on any developments.” ****  
** **

Smoothing her dress down, she stood. “Thank you, and if that’s all, I have papers that need grading.” ****  
** **

With no real reason to stay, Anderson nodded and stood in turn. She may have invited them in, but to search further would be pushing their luck. Probable cause to dissect a scene didn’t apply to android-on-android violence. ****  
** **

Out in the hallway, things appeared no worse for wear than before. A shout emanated from outside, but being so close to a private park, children yelling with laughter weren’t so unusual. ****  
** **

“No cause to pull the building surveillance. I’ll see about getting a drone to circuit the area,” Anderson confided, pushing the elevator button once again. “Manned patrol might be too much to expect, but I’d like eyes on the building for at least forty-eight hours.” ****  
** **

“Poor Aaron and her… I hope she'll be okay tonight.” Nick watched the elevator door open, certain his LED was circling red from the story they had discovered. “I can't imagine seeing something like that and not… being able to really tell anyone.” ****  
** **

“She got lucky. All the complaints you searched through, you pegged this one, and it might just get us somewhere in the deviant business.” Filing into the car, Anderson pushed the next button for the ground floor. “Nice work, Nick.” ****  
** **

“Thank you, Hank.” ****  
** **

To his surprise, Connor didn’t correct him on the informality. ****  
** **

Apparently, he was too preoccupied with staring at the handprint again. ****  
** **

The doors closed.


	8. Connections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From a standstill to a chase and back again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part recap, part remixed canon.
> 
> Also Ralph. :D

_…I know that look. You’re brooding. …Now all you need is an old time tobacco pipe to complete it. …And a seat. No one’s using that chair._ ****  
** **

_Thank you, Dennis. But neither are necessary._ ****  
** **

_But… you’re bothering the humans. Just staring off into space like that is disconcerting. Officer Miller has told me as much, several times._ Slowly, Dennis reached over, pivoting the empty seat around. There were two to spare, besides those being used by Nick and Lieutenant Anderson. _Come on. You may be the sharpest in many regards, but your social integrations are still leaving much to be desired._ ****  
** **

_Is that so? …What would you categorize my current behavior as, then?_ ****  
** **

_Brooding, with a paper-thin veneer of sociability._ ****  
** **

“You two arguin’ in private right in front of me again?” ****  
** **

Nick turned around to look at the two of them, hair sticking to his face from being pushed down by the hat - each wear seemed to leave the effect behind. “You can sit down, you know, Connor. No one's here anyways.” ****  
** **

“All the more reason I can remain standing. There’s no one to bother.” ****  
** **

Odd as it was, the wee hours of the morning at Central Station were never too crowded. With the exception of two spare patrol androids charging in their booths, the squad room was deserted. ****  
** **

Tablet in hand, Dennis waited on the inevitable. ****  
** **

Two minutes, three seconds later, it happened. ****  
** **

“Connor. _Sit._ That’s an order.” ****  
** **

With a nearly-sullen frown, the primary obeyed. ****  
** **

Looking over his terminal, Hank scoffed. “Jesus. Like pullin’ teeth with you. Just the opposite of Nick, and you wonder why you’re so distant.” ****  
** **

“I wonder nothing of the kind, Lieutenant,” Connor retorted, hands idle in his lap. He sat ramrod straight, without leaning against the backrest. “In any case, I’m busy compiling today’s data.” ****  
** **

“Yeah? You couldn’t go back to the Tower and do that?” ****  
** **

“Might as well just do it here,” Nick mumbled, turning back around to put his arms on the desk, leaning his head on them, as if he were tired. “No trouble either way for us.” ****  
** **

“What he said,” Anderson nodded, scrolling. “Anythin’ in particular you boys want to go over?” ****  
** **

“An AX400 was reported to have assaulted its owner, then fled with a child in tow,” Dennis reported, picking a proverbial card from the deck. “Yesterday afternoon. The tracker went dark, or else they would’ve been located.” ****  
** **

“A child? That's - different.” Nick frowned, eyes tilted up to look at everyone. “I wonder why they took them.” ****  
** **

“The AX went deviant. Wonder enough.” ****  
** **

Connor frowned, blinking as he brought up the case file on remote. “Only this past afternoon… they may not have gone far. And Ravendale’s train station would make for a tempting escape route.” ****  
** **

“It can wait until morning - actual, after-sunrise morning,” Hank yawned, to the incredulous look of Dennis. “I just looked at who made the complaint - Todd Williams. Petty narcotics misdemeanors, domestic assault. Kid’s better off with her virtual nanny.” ****  
** **

With a few deft taps, Dennis brought up the same file. “But… it says here Williams divorced six years ago. No… children.” ****  
** **

There was a pause as everyone processed the information, trying to understand just what that implicated. ****  
** **

“So… she's an - android?” Nick asked softly. “That's all I can think of, and I remember Cheryl said something about android children.” ****  
** **

“A YK500. Williams purchased one of the first available units in 2033.” ****  
** **

“Unit,” Anderson scoffed at the choice of vernacular. “ _Kid_ is the term for it, Connor.” ****  
** **

Nonplussed, the primary glanced away, gaze drifting upwards to focus on the skylights above. Snowflakes, turned yellow by the light, danced across the glass. ****  
** **

Refusing to add to the tension, Dennis emulated a sigh, crossing his legs, trying to at least appear relaxed. “Tomorrow, we’ll see if anything more comes of it. Officer Miller was assigned that route.” ****  
** **

“You and him gettin’ along okay?” ****  
** **

“Define… okay, sir.” ****  
** **

Anderson shrugged, banishing a window from his terminal screen with a tap. “Every time I’ve noticed, you’re never more than ten feet from his desk. Guess he doesn’t mind havin’ a second shadow.” ****  
** **

Something like static raced through his processor. Clasping the tablet, Dennis managed not to fidget. He and the lieutenant weren’t so familiar that he knew an approving tone from disapproval. ****  
** **

“I will… cease and desist, if it’s a problem.” ****  
** **

“Nah, it’s fine, so long as Chris doesn’t complain. He’s got a baby keepin’ him up nights at home. Doesn’t need one at the office, too.” ****  
** **

“You speaking from experience, Lieutenant?” Dennis asked, quietly glad his working relationship with the patrolman wasn’t in any jeopardy. “That is… I hope we don’t come across as a burden.” ****  
** **

“Hm. For now I’ve been thinkin’ of it as you came with the job. ...Plus two of you got shot the same night we met. I can’t just shrug off a detail like that.” ****  
** **

“But you have a dog, right, Hank?” Nick sat up suddenly and grinned at him, before looking back at Connor. “I know someone who likes dogs.” ****  
** **

Dennis squinted. Yes, he had noticed the white fibers clinging to Anderson’s coat. But was now really the time to bring it up? ****  
** **

“You mean him?” With a creak, Anderson sat back. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” ****  
** **

“It wasn’t pertinent to any investigation.” Unintentionally interrupting or not, Connor’s expression remained unchanged. “Circumstantial evidence of your pet isn’t of any… official value.” ****  
** **

Official insofar as CyberLife was concerned. ****  
** **

But in terms of forging a better team dynamic, why not admit to his fascination with canines? Wasn’t that an aim of theirs? ****  
** **

Smirking, the grayed policeman took the jab in stride. “And if I say it is? Exhibit A: Sumo. I ought to bring him in tomorrow, for a romp around the office. He’d have you pinned to the floor in two seconds flat.” ****  
** **

“Saint Bernard, he must be big.” Nick nodded appreciatively at the idea of the dog. “Wouldn't you like to see him, Connor? Haven't had many chances to see one.” ****  
** **

Averting his eyes even further was all the answer the primary gave. ****  
** **

“Someone’s stubborn,” Hank stated. “Three weeks you’ve been around the office and that’s as far as you want to get?” ****  
** **

Dennis answered in lieu of more strained silence. “You’ll have to forgive him, Lieutenant. He’s always been the most stringent of us.” ****  
** **

“Just when I thought he was gettin’ somewhere, too.” ****  
** **

_Drop it, Dennis. It’s not about me._ ****  
** **

Commlink activated, the secondary glanced away. Suddenly the urge to work solo, at Officer Miller’s desk, seemed far more appealing. ****  
** **

But that would only leave a festering nest of tension on the other side of the room. ****  
** **

_…Maybe it should be._ ****  
** **

_Don’t. It’s of no importance. The mission -_ ****  
** **

“Eh-eh. What’d I say about the private chatter shit?” ****  
** **

_Just say it. It’ll make him happy. Don’t you want Hank to like you? He loves Sumo. You like dogs. You can bond over that._ ****  
** **

_Bonding isn’t going to solve murders or disappearances any faster, Nicholas._ ****  
** **

“LEDs are still yellow. Last warning…” ****  
** **

_Quickly, before he reports your misbehavior._ ****  
** **

_‘Misbehavior’? To who? Do you see anyone else around at this -_ ****  
** **

None of them saw the ice cube coming. ****  
** **

Hearing the rattle of ice being dug through, Connor did. His sensors warned him of the impending impact. With a sudden snap of his arm he caught the flying frozen water before it could strike his forehead. ****  
** **

Dennis wasn’t surprised to see it. Because even in the dead of winter, Anderson liked his icy beverages. And android reflexes were superior to those of man. ****  
** **

Borderline glaring, Connor glanced up. ****  
** **

“ _Fine_. I like dogs. Are you satisfied now?” ****  
** **

Nick nodded, looking almost sheepish about pushing him to answer. “You both like dogs, it’s a good connection, Connor. Maybe the lieutenant _could_ bring Sumo in sometime.” ****  
** **

Anderson chuckled, placing the lid back on his drink. “Jeffrey’d have my ass in a sling by the end of the day. Maybe when hell freezes over again, you boys can come see him.” ****  
** **

Without looking, Connor tossed the ice cube in the nearest trash can. ****  
** **

_If you were human, your ears would be burning._ Dennis commented, with a smirk of his own. ****  
** **

“If you got a fish tank,” Nick began, giving Connor a look of almost pity at his apparent plight. “Then you would be great.” ****  
** **

“Great? As in, I don’t rate that on your scale already?” Hank teased back. “I listen to you go on and on about the spawning habits of koi, with no complaints.” ****  
** **

Dennis raised an eyebrow. … _Honestly?_ ****  
** **

_No! …Well, maybe, but not just spawning habits. They're interesting creatures, Dennis, I swear._ ****  
** **

“Hmm… fine. You can be great, but only just barely, because of the hat,” Nick gave Hank an embarrassed smile at the reveal of just what he spent his days doing. “And listening to me talk about koi.” ****  
** **

“I accept your plea. But if I have to start hearin’ about pigeons from Dennis, the deal is off.” ****  
** **

_…Sorry, Dennis, I sorta told him about how we try to train the pigeons._ ****  
** **

“You won’t. There’s not much to tell, unfortunately,” the secondary admitted, not in the least offended to have been ratted out. “A few pairs nest on some of the balconies on levels 22 and 25. Mostly I’ve just been scaring them away.” ****  
** **

“You have time enough to do that?” ****  
** **

“If anything, since working with Detroit Police, we’ve had too _much_ spare time,” Connor interjected, almost speaking through gritted teeth. “But for all the time spent cataloguing and following up leads, no patterns seem to be emerging. Besides the mentions of rA9.” ****  
** **

“I wonder…” Nick trailed off for a moment as he frowned. “How did Aaron know about rA9? It didn't seem like he was away from Ms. McDurmont a lot.” ****  
** **

“Neither was Ortiz’s housekeeper,” Anderson pointed out. “And what are the odds their people moved in similar social circles?” ****  
** **

“Slim to none,” Dennis wagered. “Yet, they both somehow knew of the concept.” ****  
** **

“I don’t suppose you three had heard of it, prior to all this?” ****  
** **

If they had, they wouldn’t be sitting here, discussing the notion. ****  
** **

At the RKs’ collective silence, Anderson scoffed. “There’s my answer. Maybe it’s somethin’ in your software, dug in so deep you don’t know it’s there. …What? Plenty of old spy movies involve sleeper agents who underwent years of conditioning. Usually the movie starts on the idea they don’t know they’re in espionage until they hear some magic trigger.” ****  
** **

Nick couldn't help but smile at his savvy reasoning. “Maybe, but - I think if it was some sort of trigger, for deviants… I might know what it meant.” ****  
** **

And he didn't. There was no recognition or fear, nothing at the mention of an rA9. ****  
** **

Connor frowned, slowly turning in his chair to take a closer look. “You think you know, or you do? You’re closer to their state of mind than either Dennis or I.” ****  
** **

“No, I don't. It means nothing to me, no urges to start building shrines, or anything like that.” ****  
** **

“What about compliance? Any - overwhelming feelings to obey what’s asked of you?” Dennis asked. He had already read the mental transcripts for himself. “Aaron knelt when the intruder asked, according to Cheryl’s statement.” ****  
** **

“Not in that way, no.” Nick shook his head. There was of course the regular fear of not obeying orders that he felt most of the time, but it was also one he overrode as much as he wanted. “He did that because the intruder said something about rA9, right? If someone said that to me right now and tried to order me to do something, I wouldn't do it.” ****  
** **

“Then… if the cause is in one’s software, perhaps it only affects older models? Operating systems?” ****  
** **

“Now don’t get too technical on me, Connor. I’m still on the ABCs.” ****  
** **

“Something in the coding,” Dennis muttered, setting the tablet on Nick’s desk. “I can’t think of any link there could be. Unless this intruder went around at random, planting the idea at various locales... ” ****  
** **

“Word of mouth - that’s really the only superpower deviants have, right? Their feelings jumble everythin’ else up. If I threw an ice cube at you, Nick, you think you’d catch it?” ****  
** **

“Maybe, but probably not,” he admitted. “It's like you said, having so many new feelings makes everything slow up for me, it seems.” ****  
** **

“Then maybe that’s what made Aaron so compliant - he could appreciate the danger they were in. Probably better to go along and self-sacrifice than let Cheryl be hurt. The intruder didn’t have it in for her.” ****  
** **

“An execution, for disavowing some tenant of rA9?” Connor shook his head. “We were looking at it from the wrong side - rA9 was the one being offended.” ****  
** **

The implications made Dennis’ own cranium ache with pressure. He paused to let it wane. “A budding religion, with agents of its will making house calls? …Wonderful.” ****  
** **

“Keep a zipper on the sarcasm, Den. I don’t think CyberLife would fancy you showin’ it too much around them.” ****  
** **

“A religion? And they target humans and androids who are, what, just friendly with each other?” A worried expression settled onto Nick's face as he looked at Dennis. “That doesn't give anyone a whole lot of leeway with them.” ****  
** **

“But there are only a handful of mentions of rA9, in over three-hundred active cases. That’s not enough to establish a pattern.” ****  
** **

“Not yet, but it’s a start. Sad fact is you may just need to wait for another big one to land on the desk before you can get any further.” ****  
** **

And, as time had shown, patience was and wasn’t Connor’s strong suit. ****  
** **

Sighing again, Dennis mimed a stretch. Just something to signify how late an hour it was. “That said, Lieutenant, perhaps we ought to retire for the night?” ****  
** **

Anderson smirked, glancing around at them. “You gettin’ sleepy on me, fellas?” ****  
** **

“Yes,” Nick mumbled, half serious. “Sleepy of sitting at this desk right now.” ****  
** **

“He means tired.” Dennis translated. “And you’re not - your energy levels are stable at fifty-seven percent.” ****  
** **

“Tired, of not making progress, also,” Connor added, almost sullenly so. ****  
** **

“Oh, we made progress today, Connor,” Nick said, raising an eyebrow at him. “You admitted you like dogs, remember?” ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Later the following day, they made a small measure more. ****  
** **

The chain link rattled as they threaded their way underneath it, one after another. But Dennis didn’t let that stop their conversation. ****  
** **

“For a moment, I thought he was gonna vault over that desk and hit you.” ****  
** **

“And let Hank see that much emotion?” Nick smiled and shook his head at him. “No. It was funny, though, at least to me.” ****  
** **

“Which was probably the idea.” Glancing up, regarding the dilapidated structure with open dubiousness, Dennis shrugged into his jacket. The wind was up again today, billowing clouds of snow wafting with every gust. “The lieutenant seems to care for making sure you’re kept in a good mood.” ****  
** **

“He's a good person. I really like him, too, maybe the only human I've ever really liked.” Nick looked up at the old house as well, eyes narrowed to see past the snow and wind. Funneled into the alleyway it blew all the more intensely around them. ****  
** **

“Granted, we haven’t known that many so… intimately.” Stepping sideways through the narrow space, Dennis searched for an entrance. The wall they faced didn’t seem to have any, only windows on the second floor. “Regardless, at least he and Connor aren’t… _totally_ hostile with each other.” ****  
** **

“I am glad for that. I like it when everyone isn't at each other's throats.” His partner pointed around the corner to the other side. “Maybe there's an entrance over there?” ****  
** **

“One side is bound to have it,” Dennis mused. Threading his way around, he found just that - a closed door. ****  
** **

He reached to try the handle, only to stop as a clamor sounded from within. ****  
** **

“Cops! …Quickly, _quickly_ , run - run and _hide_.” ****  
** **

Ducking a foot lower, Dennis froze, wordlessly activating his comm. _There’s someone here, Nick._ ****  
** **

Nick carefully made his way over, almost in a hands and knees crawl to prevent being seen with his height. _Android? Not the little girl and woman, though?_ ****  
** **

_Don’t sound like it. But whoever they are, they were talking to someone else._ ****  
** **

_Should we just… go in? Or let Connor deal with it?_ ****  
** **

_If we were going to delegate it to him, he ought to have come along._ Mind made up, Dennis straightened, knocking firmly against the door. “Anyone home?” ****  
** **

It didn’t matter if they shared the same manufacture date, or the same general specs. They didn’t need their primary to operate independently. ****  
** **

After a moment of silence, Nick tried himself, simply calling out for whoever was in the house. “Hello? Can anyone let us in?” ****  
** **

“Who… who are you?” Shaky as it sounded, the voice grew noticeably closer. ****  
** **

“Detroit Police, sir. We’d just like to ask you a few questions.” Formal as he outwardly sounded, Dennis’ inner tone went reassuring. _Go back to the car if you’re unsure of yourself here, Nick. We can’t let this become another Ortiz situation._ ****  
** **

Nick didn't respond for a moment, instead wringing his hands as they waited by the door. _I'm okay. I… won't let that happen again, Dennis. Let's see what's going on here._ ****  
** **

Amidst much muttering and shuffling footsteps, the door opened. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

“It’s decision wasn’t planned, it was driven by fear.” ****  
** **

Anderson scoffed, smirking, raising the steaming coffee cup to his mouth. With one last drink, he dropped it in a waiting garbage can. “Androids don’t feel fear.” ****  
** **

_s o f t w a r e i n s t a b i l i t y ^_ ****  
** **

“Deviants do. …You’ve seen enough for yourself to know it for a fact.” Standing idle beside the car, Connor managed to keep his burgeoning restlessness contained - just barely. Sending Dennis and Nicholas to execute a canvass, along with a contingent of human patrolmen, felt more and more incorrect. ****  
** **

It may not have been his most effective decision ever. ****  
** **

But he didn’t want to deprive them of a chance to practice. Neither had had much time outside the office these last few weeks. ****  
** **

Anderson raised an eyebrow at him, watching as he kept his restlessness at bay. “Regrettin’ it already? You look like you're a second away from boltin’ after them.” ****  
** **

“I shouldn’t,” Connor replied, as much to himself as to the policeman. A bit of confiding in the man might not hurt. “They haven’t… done much investigating, in the field, without me. Even with Nick’s errors, he… CyberLife isn’t letting things off that easily.” ****  
** **

Things. ****  
** **

He may as well have said _us_. ****  
** **

“Lettin’ things off that easily,” Anderson echoed, shaking his head at the words. “Just gonna keep on pushin’ as long as he's functional, huh? That'll end great.” ****  
** **

_It’s not as though we have any choice._ ****  
** **

Barely keeping the words in, Connor crossed his arms. The sarcasm spoke far too loudly for his liking. “It’s this, or deactivation. There are no good options, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

“And which would you prefer for him, Connor?” Anderson copied his position, arms crossed, head tilted down to stare him in the eyes. “I've got an idea which one it is for you.” ****  
** **

“...Affirmative.” Some acknowledgement was better than none at all. Whatever the opinion, unspoken it did no harm. ****  
** **

It didn’t mean he wanted to hear it, though. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

They were let in. ****  
** **

The deviant was around his same height and skin tone, an WR600, with blonde hair, hazel eye (yes, one), wrapped in a ratty-looking shawl. His patchwork attire was just as raggedly kept, but no more so than the state of his maimed face. Dennis almost balked at seeing the dark, singed gash stretching from chin to cheek back to the android’s ear, straight through his left eye. The optic itself was inky and dark. ****  
** **

“Hello. My name is Nick, and this is Dennis,” Nick began, making sure he kept a healthy few feet of distance between them. Even with his face calm at the ruined sight, his hands still trembled as they remained clasped in front of him. “Can you tell us what your name is?” ****  
** **

“R… Ralph. My n-name is Ralph.” ****  
** **

Squirrelly - the only word to jump to mind, Dennis thought, scanning the room. Most odd was the dead rat on the table, with a set of three plates arranged around it. And the smoldering fire leftover in the hearth. ****  
** **

“Have you been here for very long, Ralph?” ****  
** **

Grinning sheepishly, the deviant clasped his hands behind himself. The rambling soon caught up to second his nervous aura. “Yes, b-but only for a while. Ralph needed some place to stay - out of the wind, out of the cold. Only for awhile, Ralph can’t hurt anyone here.” ****  
** **

“That's very smart of you, Ralph.” Nick took another step forward, slightly sideways to stay out of his direct path. “Do you know if anyone else might have been smart as well? And needed a place to stay for a bit, maybe a night?” ****  
** **

The deviant rocked anxiously on his feet. “No. Nono. No, this - this is Ralph’s place, only. No one else has come. Windows closed, door locked. Ralph never goes out for very long.” ****  
** **

Dennis was careful to keep a wide berth, circling toward the corner full of furniture. “Could someone’ve snuck in while you were gone?” ****  
** **

“Uh-uh. No one else has the keys. They couldn’t get in unless Ralph let them.” ****  
** **

Nick looked at the crude dining room table, and then back at Ralph and Dennis. _He set the table for people, though, not just himself. I don't want to startle him, but… he's lying._ ****  
** **

Careful not to sound outright accusing, Dennis circled back - still mindful to give the unstable android space. “Are you sure, Ralph? No one… desperate enough might have tried? Managed to get in, under your nose?” ****  
** **

“Mm-mmmm. Nope. S-stop asking questions. No one’s here. No one’s here but Ralph.” ****  
** **

_…Maybe one of us should check upstairs? He could be too stressed out with both of down here._ ****  
** **

_…Go on. If he makes any threatening moves, I need to know you’re not caught in the middle._ ****  
** **

_Got it, Dennis. Please be careful yourself, as well._ Nick turned away from the dining room table, making his way to the stairs before calling back to Ralph. “I'm going to go upstairs, okay? Just to take a quick look.” ****  
** **

“Oh… o-okay.” ****  
** **

“It’s fine, Ralph. You’re not in any trouble.” Dennis assured him, smiling genially. “We’re looking for someone. But it’s not you. And you don’t have anything to hide, right?” ****  
** **

With one final look at the two of them, Nick turned and made his way up the stairs quickly until he could no longer be seen. ****  
** **

Out of sight, but not out of mind. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Anderson did the pacing. Conferring with the other patrolmen, and Detective Collins, he wasn’t paying any focus to their surroundings. ****  
** **

Resigned to waiting, Connor thought to open his uplink to CyberLife. A quick conference with Amanda might suffice to settle him down. He shut his eyes. ****  
** **

A commlink ping interrupted before he could connect. ****  
** **

Frowning, he reopened them, glancing back over his shoulder. ****  
** **

_…Nick? What is it?_ ****  
** **

_Me and Dennis are at the house, across from the store. There's another android here, his name is Ralph - he's pretty… damaged. He's saying no one else was here, but it's sorta obvious there was, at least._ ****  
** **

_‘Was’? Any sign they’re still there?_ Starting away from the sedan, he looked both ways for traffic. This time of day, despite the weather, there were a fair number of vehicles, civilian and commercial. _Do you need backup?_ ****  
** **

_No, we're good. No real signs they're still here, but he set a table with places for three people, pretty recently it looked like. I'm upstairs right now, Dennis is still downstairs talking to him. Just… thought I would let you know what was happening._ ****  
** **

_I wasn’t… worried, if that’s what you were really wondering._ ****  
** **

_…It's okay if you were. I just wanted you to know we have it under control - for now._ ****  
** **

The signal winked out. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

A scant minute later, the scrap hit the fan. ****  
** **

“ _Run, Kara!_ ” ****  
** **

Dennis reeled back, feeling arms close around his neck. Caught in a chokehold, he was wrenched away from the landing. Pitched with alarm, the deviant holding him screeched after the fleeing suspects: ****  
** **

“ _Run! Don’t look back!_ ” ****  
** **

_Dennis?!_ Nick cried out over their commlink, footsteps from above starting to hurry back toward the stairs at all the noise. ****  
** **

The door banged open, bouncing once on its hinges. Struggling against Ralph’s hold, Dennis fell to one knee. ****  
** **

Belatedly, he remembered to throw an elbow back. Ralph yelped at the hit to his midriff, grip loosening. A second wrench, and his attacker let go. ****  
** **

“I _said_ \- you weren’t - in _trouble_.” Wheeling around, Dennis drove the former gardener against the wall. Ralph’s damaged face glanced off the mortar, eliciting another yelp. ****  
** **

_Nick! After them! The train station, it’s the only place they can go!_ ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

_Connor - train station! Go there, they're trying to escape!_ ****  
** **

He almost jumped. The words cut off as soon as they had been said, a quick, loud, flash of a message in his head of Nick sounding panicked. ****  
** **

Ignoring Anderson’s surprised shout, he pivoted and bolted across the icy street - to the outrage of at least two automated taxis. Brakes chiming, they honked in outrage. Two blocks north, the elevated train station awaited. ****  
** **

Sirens started behind him. ****  
** **

Even with the child in tow, the AX400 was fast. Nimble and slight, she outwove several patrolmen before turning down an alley. Pedestrians cried out and lept aside, not wanting to get swept into the chase. ****  
** **

As if to accentuate the peril, the frenetic pace at which Connor ran, the snow squalls kicked up. Whiteout conditions overtook the street. Visibility dropped to less than fifteen feet. ****  
** **

_Shit. Where else could they - there!_ ****  
** **

_We're coming, almost caught up!_ ****  
** **

Staving off a rush of aggravation, Connor took off, rounding the corner into the alley. He had studied Ravendale’s layout. He knew where this passage led - a fence, facing an incline, leading down to the high-speed highway. ****  
** **

Two figures were already scaling the barrier - one hoisting the other, shorter one. ****  
** **

“Stop! Police!” ****  
** **

The storm swelled again, a large waft of cold, snowflake-filled air filling the alley. Ducking to keep it out of his eyes, Connor latched onto the fence, bringing himself to a sharp stop. Two voices accosted him for the trouble. ****  
** **

“Leave us alone!” ****  
** **

“Alice, c’mon!” ****  
** **

Through the thick screen of snow, he couldn’t see their faces. ****  
** **

Footsteps rounded the same corner that he had, beginning to slow down as they trekked their way over to the fence as well. The three others that now crowded in to watch through the fence as the two deviants began to cautiously slide down the embankment, to the side of the highway. ****  
** **

“Oh, Jesus, that's insane,” Anderson panted, bent over from the exertion of chasing after him with Dennis and Nick. ****  
** **

_Getting away. Enough staring. They’re getting - away!_ ****  
** **

Moving only on sheer programming, Connor started to climb the fence. ****  
** **

Someone grabbed his right elbow. ****  
** **

“No, no, no, you could get hurt, that's too dangerous!” For how un-intimidating he often appeared, it was easy to be surprised by how strong Nick could be, almost yanking him off of the fence. ****  
** **

A second hand grabbed on. ****  
** **

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” ****  
** **

Fingers hooked into the links for leverage, Connor growled against the drone of the storm. “We can’t let them get away.” ****  
** **

“They won’t,” Anderson sighed. “They’ll never make it to the other side.” ****  
** **

More snowfall blew over them. He didn’t think to blink it away. “I can’t take that chance!” ****  
** **

Putting more effort into it, he braced a foot on the fence and tried to pull himself up again. ****  
** **

A third hand joined on the other side of him, all three of them hauling him back from the top of the fence as he made the attempt. The frame gave another agitated rattle, protesting against the weight. ****  
** **

“No, _no_ , stop trying!” ****  
** **

“Hey! Fuck’s sake, don’t!” ****  
** **

Leaning close, Hank shouted in his ear - outdoing the roar of the snowstorm. “Ey, you will get yourself killed! _Do not_ go after them, Connor! That’s an order!” ****  
** **

Dennis went for the commlink, another too-calm voice of reason: _Don’t go. It’s suicide, and they know it. They have no choice if it means having a chance at being free. Amanda will understand._ ****  
** **

_No, she won’t. You don’t get it. I’ve failed too much, I haven’t made progress. I have to go!_ ****  
** **

Undoubtedly seeing the grim, conflicted look on his face, LED spinning red, Anderson gave another command: “ _Keep_ him there. Don’t let go!” ****  
** **

_Get OFF!_ ****  
** **

Fruitlessly Connor tried for another lunge. ****  
** **

Nick grabbed on with his other hand and pulled him back again, digging his feet into the slippery ground as he did so. “ _Stop_ it, Connor, you'll just get yourself killed!” ****  
** **

“Please.” Pinned against the chain link, fingers curled into claws, he twisted around as best he could. “I can’t _be_ killed, Nicholas! Stop being - irrational.” He tried again. ****  
** **

And was yanked down again. ****  
** **

Hanging on like a terrier, Dennis’ hands tightened on his bicep. “We all are, see sense, don’t fight us. We’re not gonna - _let_ you do that.” ****  
** **

“Can you even see ‘em now? I can’t.” ****  
** **

Balking, Connor looked again, only seeing a wave of white between the fence and the embankment. The skid marks in the snow had already been blown away. ****  
** **

_Failed. Again. You failed again._ ****  
** **

First with Ortiz’s android, for showing overzealousness. ****  
** **

Now with the fugitive AX, for not handling the search himself. ****  
** **

Amanda would not be pleased. ****  
** **

Nick let go of him with one hand, still loosely gripping with the other as he peered out toward the highway. “Maybe they actually…” He glanced at Connor, then promptly stopped talking. ****  
** **

Something unsettling wormed in between his thoughts. Shuddering, he let go and stepped back. Fragments of broken text danced in front of his retinas, one phrase forming through the jumbled assortment.

 _s o f t w a r e_ **_i n s t a b i l i t y_ ** _^_ ****  
** **

Commlink deactivating, Dennis let go. “Are you all right?” ****  
** **

Placated, catching a second wind, Anderson followed suit. His breath steamed in the freezing air. “There, just relax. It’ll be fine. …You’ll - get them some other time.” ****  
** **

Nick let go after another moment, choosing to just silently watch him, looking concerned at his disquiet expression. ****  
** **

Perhaps ten seconds later, his flagging awareness reset. ****  
** **

“You should’ve let me _go_.” Hissing, he wheeled around, shrugging off any lingering hands. “I should’ve been faster. Even with the conditions, I shouldn’t have let them get away.” ****  
** **

_I should’ve searched for myself. Not left it to them._ ****  
** **

“You could've been killed, trying to cross the highway, especially in this weather, Connor.” Nick reasoned, waveringly as ever, taking a step back to give him some space. ****  
** **

“It wouldn’t _matter_. At least I would have _tried_ , not failed my mission - again!” ****  
** **

“Agh, spare us the obsessive cop cliché, Connor. You weren’t made for it.” Turning away, Anderson sighed and waved the waiting patrolmen on. “No dice, guys. Thanks. Back to your routes.” ****  
** **

“It’s one less expense in damages, think of it that way,” Dennis argued. “You’ve never been reset, Connor. Nothing says you need to be - not us, and not your program.” ****  
** **

“It'll be okay,” Nick tried to reassure him. “ _You'll_ be okay, there wasn't anything anyone really could have done once they hopped the fence.” ****  
** **

Unrestrained, Connor almost lifted a hand to grab the fence again. ****  
** **

Almost. ****  
** **

Instead, with a grimace of defeat, he hung his head. ****  
** **

“Think of next time,” Dennis reminded him, trying to reassurance. “Don’t worry. There’ll be other chances.” ****  
** **

_That’s the thing about chances…_ ****  
** **

Eventually, they run out.


	9. Flights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another semi-intimate talk, another nonstarter pursuit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more creative license taken.

Winter had hit Detroit. Day after day of storm systems had buried her streets in snow. The plows ran near constantly, trying to keep routes clear.Public works androids shoveled at the sidewalks almost as nonstop.

 ****Back in the garden it was still a luscious, late summer afternoon, full of soothing rain. ****  
** **

It might not have been the real, oddly enjoyable experience it was outside his mind. But the feeling of raindrops pattering on his false skin was strangely soothing. And in solitude, it felt even nicer. ****  
** **

But the problem was the garden wasn’t a haven for him, or either of his partners. It was where answers were expected. Amanda may hold back for a short while, but never indefinitely. ****  
** **

Unless one happened to be in need of coddling. ****  
** **

Like Nicholas. ****  
** **

So, when he entered upload mode in the exact wrong state of mind, it didn’t come as any surprise when Amanda materialized at his side. “Connor. You know you don’t have to suffer the rain like this.” ****  
** **

True. There was an umbrella held ready under one of his arms. ****  
** **

After botching the pursuit in Ravendale, didn’t he deserve to endure at least a little discomfort? A little just punishment? ****  
** **

Amanda didn’t appear to believe so. With gentle insistence, she pried the umbrella free and opened it. ****  
** **

“Something’s troubling you?” ****  
** **

_What was your first hint?_ ****  
** **

Banishing the approximated sardonic voice of Lieutenant Anderson, Connor frowned. “I failed. Again.” ****  
** **

What more did he need to explain? Amanda undoubtedly saw it all already. His memories were an open book. Her impassive expression never wavered upon reading them. ****  
** **

The same blank slate he wished his own features would conform to so flawlessly. ****  
** **

“You failed…” Amanda began gradually. Rain continued to drum incessantly on the umbrella’s canopy. “In what regard?” ****  
** **

“The deviants, in Ravendale,” Connor summarized, almost sullenly. “They escaped. So many variables, I could have been smarter, more calculated in the steps we took to try and apprehend them. And I… wasn’t.” ****  
** **

“Would you care to take a walk?” Amanda offered. “To clear your head? Now may not be the most ideal time for you to be reporting to us.” ****  
** **

“No. But… if it’s not a report you require, or an explanation, might I… just remain here? A short while?” Blinking rapidly, he wiped simulated rain from his eyes, decidedly ignoring how it must look to his overseer. ****  
** **

Tears of frustration - one of many things rain could be mistaken for. ****  
** **

Preposterous. He was aggravated, yes, but not so disturbed as to try and emote. There wasn’t any point. To do so earned him no favors from Amanda. ****  
** **

But if Nick could be afforded his damned koi and gentle talks, couldn’t other allowances be made? ****  
** **

Raising an eyebrow, Amanda balanced the umbrella against her shoulder, tilting its cover back. ****  
** **

The rain began drumming on his shoulders once more. ****  
** **

“Meditate if you will, Connor. Anything to help hasten the progress of your investigation.” She smiled her small smile. “I’ll always be waiting.” ****  
** **

Dazedly, he let his eyes close. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

The disconnect was purely unintentional. In hindsight, he realized there was no way to remain ported into the garden with his physical eyes open. ****  
** **

Even if only a few actual seconds had elapsed since closing them, that was time enough to reopen them to another oddly discomforting sight. ****  
** **

“-other day at the virtual galleries. I don’t know what it is, but every time she saw it, she started cooing.” Chris Miller was sitting at his desk, travel-sized album device in hand. And leaning over his shoulder, hand braced on the desk, was Dennis. ****  
** **

The latter android looked entirely too fixated on the pictures being shown to describe his behavior as ‘taking a casual glance’. ****  
** **

Maybe he was simply humoring the man, indulging an impulse need to share snapshots of his three-month-old daughter. ****  
** **

Or maybe he was that interested. ****  
** **

“You think it was the colors, the kaleidoscope effect? I can only imagine how such a thing looks to someone who’s never seen it.” ****  
** **

“Could’ve been,” Miller replied, scrolling to the next semi-transparent image. “She was the best behaved kid there, didn’t fuss once.” ****  
** **

_Don’t they all say that, new parents? Their child can do no wrong, not right out of the gate._ ****  
** **

Or maybe that was just the pride talking. ****  
** **

Or. ****  
** **

Why did that word keep cropping up in his processes, with increasing frequency? ****  
** **

Thankfully, in passing them by, Dennis spared him from dwelling on it too deeply. The secondary glanced up, then beckoned - almost eagerly. “Connor. Have you seen the pictures of Amy yet?” ****  
** **

Unintentionally, he had. A brief scan of the device yielded all the information he scant had to ask for to know. ****  
** **

_Amelia Miller. Born 9.15.2038._ ****  
** **

Reading into his pause, Dennis shook his head. He had the same capability. “I mean, _actually_ seen them.” ****  
** **

Miller, on the other hand, mistook the silence as pending trouble. Looking up, the smile waned from his face. “You okay, Detective?” ****  
** **

Another oddity - while everyone else tended to refer to them only by name, and Gavin Reed made up more of his fair share of insults, Chris Miller seemed to think their function warranted an unofficially official title. ****  
** **

It was as flattering as it was inappropriate. ****  
** **

Mindful of his body language, Connor forced an unpracticed smirk. “Yes, Officer. Thank you for asking.” ****  
** **

Dennis wasn’t fooled. “You’re still dwelling, about this morning.” ****  
** **

Among other processes. ****  
** **

The smirk crumbled. “Why would I be? It doesn’t… change what happened.” ****  
** **

Didn’t change the fact he had, outvoted and incapacitated at the time, ignored his programming. ****  
** **

“No, it doesn’t.” Miller scoffed, sparing him a wry smile. “You’re not the first cop who ever lost a footchase, Connor. The sooner you stop being sore about it, the quicker you might catch the next one.” ****  
** **

If only it were just the outcome of the chase waylaying his thoughts. ****  
** **

“Sound advice.” Searching for a diversion, he tried a personal question: “Amelia isn’t - proving all that stressful, then?” ****  
** **

Dennis smirked again. ****  
** **

Miller shook his head. “Maybe I just see her on all the good days, but there seem to be more with every passing week.” Without prompt, he scrawled to the next picture and flipped the device around. “Like this - I get the same look each time I come home.” ****  
** **

Analytical, Connor was tempted to point out human infants weren’t in the strongest, deliberate command of their facial expressions. They learned to express certain looks for certain moods through prolonged proximity to their parents. ****  
** **

But at the moment, he also knew Chris wasn’t thinking of Amelia in those terms. Humans read all kinds of emotion into what they saw, as opposed to what they were actually seeing. The officer wasn’t looking for any validation here besides open acknowledgment of his daughter’s ideal demeanor. ****  
** **

Hesitantly, Connor grasped the frame by its corner, lifting it up for a closer look. ****  
** **

Lying in her crib, one arm around a small ragdoll, Amelia’s dark eyes gleamed back at him. Her lips were curved upward in a delighted, gummy smile. ****  
** **

“She… looks pleased to see you.” He handed the frame back. ****  
** **

Miller nodded, beaming anew. “That one’s staying on my desk, no question.” ****  
** **

“Any chance you’ll bring her in someday? Introduce us?” Dennis suggested, looking too eager to be answered in the affirmative. ****  
** **

For a moment, he sounded so much like Nicholas, he could almost pass for him - only shorter. ****  
** **

Situating the picture beside his terminal, Miller laughed. “You know where I live, Den. Maybe we can arrange a playdate once the weather calms down.” ****  
** **

“Could we? …Sunny skies on Thursday, potentially.” ****  
** **

_First it was Sumo we were teased by. Now it’s a colleague’s progeny._ ****  
** **

Too close. They were getting too close. Distractions would only keep mounting if they weren’t curtailed somewhere. ****  
** **

Connor steeled his face, turning away before he could say anything untoward. ****  
** **

As much as he thought to object, then and there, he knew it was futile. Their minds were made up, set like concrete. He may as well not say anything. Dennis had clearly made up his mind, as Miller had in seriously entertaining the absurd prospect. ****  
** **

Just as Amanda misguidedly indulged Nick in adding koi to the garden. Once the bad behavior was rewarded, it would only repeat. Nothing beneficial would be learned from the folly except how incorrect a decision it was. ****  
** **

What use were they if they couldn’t remain objective? ****  
** **

Didn’t remain objective? ****  
** **

CyberLife didn’t suffer uselessness. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Hank Anderson usually took lunch alone. Or, if he wanted company, he brought said meal back to the station. ****  
** **

In today’s case, a highly-impractical dining out experience ensued. And the RKs weren’t invited along so much as ordered. ****  
** **

Eyes forward, Connor opted for the backseat, behind the driver, in lieu of objecting or trying to negotiate a way out. Only the multicolored spinning of his LED betrayed his inner turmoil. ****  
** **

Folded up next to him, Nick watched out of the passenger side window at the snow lazily blowing around outside as they made their way to their destination. It wasn't Thursday yet, but it wasn't the full blown snow storm they had found themselves in that morning. ****  
** **

Riding shotgun, Dennis, strangely enough, was the one to voice his doubts. “Sir, we… don’t eat.” ****  
** **

“Fine by me,” Anderson huffed, maneuvering to a stop on the side of the street. Across the two lanes of traffic, a roadside food shack known as The Chicken Feed stood parked below the arches of an elevated highway. “Join in, or stay here. Either way, we all needed a moment away from the paperwork.” ****  
** **

“Good thing we can't get cold,” Nick said, waiting for Anderson to switch the ignition off. The motor died with a breathy rasp. “It looks chilly. Will you be okay?” ****  
** **

“I grew up with Michigan winters, kid. Don’t worry there. All I need is five minutes to order.” ****  
** **

Dennis waited until the door closed before opening his own. “May as well follow. The alternative is staying holed up here, like we’re in storage.” ****  
** **

With a nod, Nick followed after Dennis made his way out of the car, stepping aside to allow Connor to do so as well. ****  
** **

“Hehehey!” Halfway across the street, Anderson managed to dodge a chiming taxi cab - a clumsy, unintentional repeat of their primary dashing into traffic that same morning. ****  
** **

Seeing it, Connor stopped short of closing the sedan’s door. ****  
** **

Wordlessly, following a pause, he began to open it back up. ****  
** **

“C’mon, don’t.” Dennis grabbed his shoulder before Connor could sit down. “It’s only across the street. The car can watch itself.” ****  
** **

Nick crossed the street carefully, looking both ways to avoid almost getting run down as well, before joining Hank at the counter of The Chicken Feed. ****  
** **

At work preparing the food, the server barely glanced up. Steam rose in a steady cloud from the sizzling stove. Without turning around, he knew his customer immediately. “Hank. The usual?” ****  
** **

“You got it, Gary. Nice and toasty. Doin’ wonders for your complexion, too, all the greasy warmth?” ****  
** **

“Pft. If you say so, LT.” ****  
** **

Dennis stopped at the curb, glancing around at the run-down neighborhood. Feigning feeling the bite of cold, he folded his arms around himself. “ _This_ is where you eat everyday?” ****  
** **

“Most days, not everyday.” Loosening his scarf, Hank turned to glance at them. “Gary makes an exception for his most loyal patrons.” ****  
** **

“It's not very…” Nick searched for the word, wrinkling his nose as he looked inside the booth. Hanging on one of the walls was a sign that declared their health score a C - and it was an expired grade, at that, by a few years. “Healthy, Hank.” ****  
** **

“Neither is bitin’ your nails, but you don’t let that stop you.” ****  
** **

“What? …You’ve actually started biting your nails?” Dennis blurted out, bemused and yet deadpan in the same instant. ****  
** **

Nick let out a scoff, but if he were human, his face would have been bright red. “I don't do it often! And it's not like it can - _actually_ damage my hands…” ****  
** **

Unfolding his arms, Dennis stalked closer, reaching out to grab their third’s elbow. “Let me see.” ****  
** **

“Ah, you're so touchy.” He whined, but extended his arm anyways, letting Dennis take a look at his hand. “It's not that bad.” ****  
** **

“Bad enough, I can see the damage,” the redheaded android groused. His face contorted with disgust. “ _Stop_ that. You’ll eat right through your tactile sensors at such a rate.” ****  
** **

Flipping patties, Gary laughed without turning around. “Christ, Hank, when did you find time to adopt?” ****  
** **

“They came with the badge, sorry to say.” Anderson remarked, but not without a glib half smile. ****  
** **

“Please, how else would you know so much about koi? We're blessings.” Nick shook his head at him, retracting his hand from Dennis. Belatedly, he responded to the shorter android’s complaint. “And, no, I won't! You're such a worrier, they're fine.” ****  
** **

“You’re a font of fascinatin’, but useless information, Nicholas.” ****  
** **

The last to rendezvous, Connor strode up in time to see Dennis grab for Nick’s wrist again. “They are _not_ fine. Keep chewin’, and you’ll need those servos replaced.” ****  
** **

Nick's own smile slipped at the information, but not by much. “It helps with stress, though. …I'll stop, would be weird if I had my fingers replaced.” ****  
** **

That served to get Gary’s attention. Boxing up a hamburger, he stopped to give them a odd look. “You’re - partnered with androids?” ****  
** **

Hank waved impatiently. “Old news, Gary. The grub, please, before we all freeze into modern art pieces. …Thanks. And I’ll look into that for you.” ****  
** **

Idly flipping his quarter between his own fingers, trying his best to look preoccupied, Connor paid their banter another mute, unemotive look. ****  
** **

Whatever _that_ referred to, he declined to ask. ****  
** **

“No tables?” ****  
** **

“Nah, sorry. Weather’s too crap for that. Maybe later in the week, once it lets up.” ****  
** **

“Do you… want to play a round, Connor?” Nick nodded toward the coin he had. “We haven't done that in awhile.” ****  
** **

Rolling the coin across his knuckles, their primary glanced up, taking a prolonged stare at the other’s fingers. “...Your hands shake too much now.” ****  
** **

Expression falling, Dennis scoffed at the dismissive reply. “And, what? You don’t think muscle memory retains anything?” ****  
** **

“It's fine. He doesn't wanna play, my hands shake.” Nick shrugged, LED circling red once before settling back to blue. “He's not wrong.” ****  
** **

“Play?” Anderson repeated, food and drink in hand. Gary flipped the ordering window shut. “Is that somethin’ he used to do?” ****  
** **

“Used to, yes,” Connor retorted, ending the trick with one last twirl before pocketing the quarter. “And it wasn’t play. It was a synchronicity exercise.” ****  
** **

“I could hold that for you, sir, if you like,” Dennis offered a free hand, apparently eager to move to the next subject. ****  
** **

“Thanks. I wouldn’t dare eat off that counter, otherwise.” Handing the drink over, Anderson popped the box open. “This won’t take but a few minutes. Maybe you boys can talk nice in the meantime? Show me what that used to look like?” ****  
** **

“We _are_ nice,” Nick mumbled, looking at his ragged fingernails with renewed interest at the thought of having to replace them. “Or, nice enough. Usually.” ****  
** **

“Yeah, sure. CyberLife’s idea of nice.” Taking a hearty bite, the policeman stopped long enough to chew. ****  
** **

“Is there anything else you’d like to know about us?” Connor offered, with only the barest hint of curiosity. Ironically the sun managed to break through the solid cloud cover. ****  
** **

“Hell, no. I mean - yeah. Um. Why’d they make you all so goofy lookin’, and give you those weird voices?” ****  
** **

“Hey, you have to play nice, too. We're actually all supposed to be attractive, Hank.” Nick pouted, but still grinned at him afterwards. “Maybe it's just you.” ****  
** **

“Just me? What about the rest of the people you’ve met?” ****  
** **

“CyberLife androids are intended to work harmoniously with humans,” Connor explained, ignorant of just how routine a response he delivered. “Our appearances and voices are specifically designed to facilitate our integration.” ****  
** **

“...Well, they fucked up.” ****  
** **

Dennis frowned. The sun went back into hiding, in time for him to mutter under his breath. “Shit…” ****  
** **

But not so quietly Hank didn’t hear it. He put the burger down midbite. “Excuse me? _What_ did you say?” ****  
** **

Shoulders hunching, Dennis actually seemed abashed. “Shit?” ****  
** **

Nick let out a wheeze of air at the word, eyebrows raised at Dennis when he voiced it louder. Almost as if he was shocked that he even said, much less knew it, in the first place. ****  
** **

“Since when do you fuckers know how to curse?” ****  
** **

Unimpressed with the spontaneous reveal, Connor looked anything save surprised. “Observing you long enough tends to leave the impression it’s… acceptable, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

“Yeah? Like it _sounds_ good, coming from the likes of you three. Meanwhile, you can just forget you ever learned that, Dennis. Cursing isn’t for kids, all right?” ****  
** **

“But - we’re not exactly children,” Nick mentioned, in vain. ****  
** **

“Close enough. _Forget_ you learned it from me, understood?” ****  
** **

“Got it.” Eyes darting, Dennis tried for a less sensitive topic: “Not that - you don’t already know, sir, but we’re experimental. CyberLife has never developed our kind in batches.” ****  
** **

“Batches bein’ fancy talk for siblings,” Anderson retorted, talking around another bite. “Explains why the moment they let you out of the Tower, you started turnin’ on each other.” ****  
** **

“We're not that bad. Just sorta… disorganized? Unsynced?” Nick shrugged, crossing his arms in front of himself. ****  
** **

“You mean _you_ are. And that’s thrown these two for a loop.” ****  
** **

Connor scowled. “Do you have a point you’re attempting to make, Lieutenant Anderson?” ****  
** **

“Nah, just makin’ conversation. After that stunt with you tryin’ to climb the fence, I figured the sooner it gets brought up, the better.” ****  
** **

“We’re not so dysfunctional we can’t work together,” Dennis pointed out. “Even if... we’re far off of what we were slated to be.” ****  
** **

Nick frowned. “...I dunno if we ever were that, though. Two out of three, remember?” ****  
** **

“Is that what they scored you on? How alike you were?” Anderson snorted. “If that were so, they could’ve gotten by makin’ one of you.” ****  
** **

“We were meant to model ourselves after an equilateral triangle. _This_ , in other words.” Without dropping his eyes, Connor pointed to the blue logo on his chest - a triangle comprised of smaller like-shaped fractals. “But the more developmental phases we went through, the less equal we became.” ****  
** **

“Scalene, at best.” Dennis muttered, combing snowflakes from his hair. ****  
** **

“And that’s a bad thing?” ****  
** **

“It's - supposed to be, yes.” Nick took a step toward Dennis, drifting behind him like always. “At least, to CyberLife it is.” ****  
** **

“Huh…” Brushing crumbs from his beard, Anderson looked a mite more thoughtful. “They must think the best way to deal with deviants is to keep some on a leash. …No offense.” ****  
** **

Connor’s eyes slitted. “Thus far, it doesn’t seem to be working.” ****  
** **

Nick swallowed at the words, but didn't respond, simply slid further behind Dennis. Unwilling, or unable to disprove his words. ****  
** **

The shorter (shortest) android only handed the drink back, then folded his arms, refusing to be baited. “What about you, Lieutenant? How do you think we’re doing?” ****  
** **

“Now there’s a loaded question. Dunno if you’d want me to recite your report cards, here and now.” ****  
** **

“...Do you really hate androids so much?” Dennis asked, once the silence reached uncomfortable levels. “In general, I meant. All the… propaganda on your desk…” ****  
** **

Anderson scoffed again. His face betrayed no rising anger or true offense, only a blank mask against the cold. “I have my reasons… but on the whole, you three… haven’t been so bad.” ****  
** **

“Hmm. Glad we haven't been so bad for you, then. Thank you, Hank.” ****  
** **

“Thank you, sir.” ****  
** **

“...Thank you.” ****  
** **

Nodding, the policeman’s unworded vote of approval seemed like a fair trade. ****  
** **

“So you’ve all done your homework, besides our conversations. Know everythin’ there is to know about me?” ****  
** **

The biting breeze died down again by the time Connor hesitantly answered, as though he were unsure of his right to speak on the topic: “You graduated top of your class. You made a name for yourself in several cases, and became the youngest lieutenant in Detroit.” ****  
** **

Picking up the slack, Dennis continued, caution very evident in his tone: “You’ve also received several disciplinary warnings in recent years, and you… spend a lot of time in bars.” ****  
** **

“...So what’s your conclusion?” ****  
** **

“I thought we would have trouble working with you, but… you're a good person.” Nick shrugged again, smiling at him. “I like working with you, and I bet we all do.” ****  
** **

His smile turned out to be the only one, but it wasn’t outvoted by three frowns. ****  
** **

“Hmm.” ****  
** **

The breeze picked up again, and the lunch outing ended with not one shiver from any of them. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Pigeons. ****  
** **

It had to be pigeons. ****  
** **

Connor scant looked down. The feathers in the filthy, deserted hallway were a dead giveaway. Little gray tufts littering the tiles, originating from no fewer than a dozen specimens, flew away, disturbed by their passing steps. ****  
** **

Dennis promptly forgot to investigate the tip in favor of grabbing a handful of them for closer examination. ****  
** **

Maybe not promptly, but he certainly took immediate notice of them. ****  
** **

“ _Columba livia_. Rock pigeons?” ****  
** **

Striding down the hall, Connor focused on finding the right door, instead of stopping to look for himself. “No one’s supposed to be living on this floor. Evidence of avians nesting here only confirms it.” ****  
** **

“Hm, you’d be surprised. Pigeons of urban environments aren’t so picky about roosting sites.” ****  
** **

“Dennis, please. Don’t let yourself get sidetracked.” ****  
** **

_Three doors down from… yes, this one._ ****  
** **

Drawing to a halt, he heard Dennis mimic a sigh and straighten up. “The neighbor said they thought they saw someone, hiding an LED under a cap. It’s hardly the most conclusive lead ever.” ****  
** **

“No. But it’s still a lead.” ****  
** **

And it was more to act on than the second case to crop up. Lieutenant Anderson had grumbled at the idea of splitting up, rather than reporting back to the station. But at least in sniffing out a purported deviant burglar at a locked-up summer home would be inherently warmer than this. ****  
** **

The man needed time out of the harsh elements, whether he admitted it or not. And Nick would be of no consequence to bring along to such a scene. ****  
** **

As the doorbell was defunct, Connor knocked on the door. “Anybody home?” ****  
** **

A pause to listen was only met by silence. ****  
** **

He raised his voice a few more decibels: “Open up, Detroit Police!” ****  
** **

Another pause, followed by a muffled clatter, revealed the tip was at least partially true. ****  
** **

Without ceremony, Dennis pulled him aside. “After me.” ****  
** **

“Got it.” ****  
** **

Stout of stature, but no less powerful for it, the secondary took one overall look of the door, then drove his shoulder in, above the doorknob. Rotting wood gave way with a crash to reveal a short hallway. A door to either side, plus one in front, awaited them. ****  
** **

_Which one?_ ****  
** **

_Pick one. It’s not as if either of us is armed._ ****  
** **

_…Another mistake?_ ****  
** **

_Mute it, Dennis._ ****  
** **

Separating, each tried the door to his side. Finding nothing but walls full of overlapping pictograms, Dennis put an ear against the remaining choice. ****  
** **

_…Hear that?_ ****  
** **

Without giving a pause to answer, Dennis shouldered his way in. ****  
** **

Someone answered. A flurry of beating black-and-gray wings assaulted them. ****  
** **

“Pigeons?!” ****  
** **

Cooing frenetically, the startled flock of birds blew by, escaping through a hole in the hallway ceiling. The rapid beating of their wings ceased only to be replaced by a blanket of cooing and chittering. ****  
** **

Eyebrows up, Connor glanced around. The filthy apartment floor was covered with a carpet of milling, pecking birds. ****  
** **

_So much for thinking there was nothing here._ ****  
** **

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” ****  
** **

The irrational urge to lecture cropped up again: “Dennis, please, _language_.” ****  
** **

“Oh, tattle on me some other time. Look at this - nonsense.” Crossing the vacant living room, birds scattering from his path, Dennis wrenched a curtain down from the window, then slid it open. “At least give us some light to work by.” ****  
** **

An overturned cage sat on the floor in front of the door. Fungi had grown up in the layers of excrement. The ceiling had rotted away, large gaps leaving cross beams exposed. Two refrigerators sat in the kitchenette corner. Boxes of bird food covered the counter. ****  
** **

The bathroom door was gone. Peering inside, Connor found a familiar sight. ****  
** **

rA9. ****  
** **

Written 2471 times. ****  
** **

The same sign from Ortiz’s shower wall. The same name Cheryl McDurmont’s android obeyed without question. ****  
** **

To the left was a large, elaborate diagram of a labyrinth. Below it lay an overturned wooden stool, and a recently-used permanent marker. The sink was full of discarded feathers, avian excrement, and one noticeable blue blotch. ****  
** **

“R.T.” Dennis’ voice came from the living room. “Probably initials… and the driver’s license is fake.” ****  
** **

“It’s LED is in the sink,” Connor reported. “Recently removed. Thirium bloodstain is a match. WB200.” ****  
** **

Glancing around the frame, raising an eyebrow at the sight of the wall, Dennis went for the commlink: _You think they’re still here?_ ****  
** **

_Maybe. The marker is still wet. Examine the cage. I’ll look for it’s hiding place._ ****  
** **

The birds fluttered and hopped aside, but fewer flew away the longer they searched. ****  
** **

Behind a UFD poster in the crawlspace above a radiator, Dennis found a diary. It made sense, given the traditional books sitting on one shelf, but the pages were filled with more of the same overlapping pictals. ****  
** **

_…They heard us at the door. The metal hook on the cage was recently snapped. The prints in the sh- bird waste, the space above the closet, Connor._ ****  
** **

_Don’t give it any indication, then. Keep searching._ ****  
** **

_I’m contacting Lieutenant Anderson. We need more eyes on this building, in case they run._ ****  
** **

_I said, keep searching. If they run, I can keep up._ ****  
** **

Listening carefully, he heard it against all the background clamor: a strained creak of wood, from overhead. ****  
** **

Edging by the front door, mindful to swing it mostly shut, Dennis mustered a half glare. _I’d rather you don’t run at all. We can get this one alive. No one needs to die._ ****  
** **

_No one would, Dennis. Besides the pigeons, no one here is alive._ ****  
** **

_You’re still holding on to that argument? Connor, it’s not so simple._ ****  
** **

_I’d rather not argue, period. Focus. The mission at hand, please._ ****  
** **

_You think politeness alone is gonna convince me?_ ****  
** **

_No, but it’s preferable to the verbal -_ garbage _you’ve installed in your syntax. Stow your sarcasm for later. Now isn’t the time to practice._ ****  
** **

_Fine. Let me just pretend to check the clos-_ ****  
** **

“Dennis, above you!” ****  
** **

The deviant didn’t pounce so much as fall from its hiding place. Connor lunged too late to knock Dennis aside. The three of them fell heavily to the floor, scrambling even as another rush of birds took wing. ****  
** **

“Fuck!” ****  
** **

_Language!_ ****  
** **

_Get over it. Chase him!_ ****  
** **

‘Rupert Travis’ sprang up and ran like a rabbit. ****  
** **

Order given, target acquired, Connor forgot the need to argue and took off. ****  
** **

Out in the corridor, he vaulted over a metal rack pulled over to slow him down. There was a fire escape at the opposite end of the hallway. His prey shouldered their way through, spinning about to close the metal door in his path. ****  
** **

Breaking through, he kept over a corrugated duct, jumped over a low wall, racing across the open rooftop field. Urban Farms of Detroit may not see much activity in December, with nothing to harvest, but their network of fields and greenhouses still made for a proper maze. ****  
** **

A chime sounded through his systems. Uplink activated, Dennis had joined the chase. Their shared eyesight would show him the way to follow. ****  
** **

The deviant kept a decent head start, clambering up two more levels before pealing left past a closed up greenhouse. It kept its head down, arms and legs pumping. It was an agricultural model, built for endurance if not speed. ****  
** **

And it was dressed for the elements. ****  
** **

Connor was not. More than once, one or both of his feet skidded out from under him, clad in their business shoes. The skin of his palms scraped over ice and off metal edges as he scrambled to keep traction, maintain his pace. ****  
** **

The weather had cleared since lunchtime. The sun was out, smoked over by cloud cover though it was. No snow flurries obscured his vision this time. Wind lashing his hair and jacket, he never lost sight of the deviant’s fleeing figure. ****  
** **

Only when the chase took an unexpected turn _down_ did he feel worry. ****  
** **

The concrete floor went out from under them. Rupert vaulted one last time, landed on its hip and slid. The slope of a greenhouse roof would put it directly on top of a passing subway train. ****  
** **

Given zero time to reconsider, Connor followed. ****  
** **

He thought he heard Dennis - some ten feet further behind - call out in warning. ****  
** **

The glass was cold, rough, and merciless. Descending feet first, Connor felt his palms scrape down to their pearly white interior. Wedging his heels in with precise timing, he managed to throw himself forward, landing in a one-kneed crouch two cars behind Rupert. ****  
** **

His partner didn’t quite manage the same effortless leap. ****  
** **

_Connor!_ ****  
** **

He spun around, taking his eyes off Rupert as the train entered a turn on the track. ****  
** **

With an outward curse of a yelp, Dennis hit the car, dangerously close to the open connector section between it and the next, and his feet went out from under him. Twisting around, he grabbed for purchase on the smooth, streamlined roof. ****  
** **

Only to find virtually none. ****  
** **

Connor saw one hand catch - the only anchor point keeping Dennis’ momentum from tossing him off the track. ****  
** **

Time slowed down. Preconstruction schematics filled his vision. A percentage readout took center stage: ****  
** **

_Chance of survival: 62%_ ****  
** **

He didn’t stop to ponder, much less weigh risks versus consequences, consider the fact the other RK faced no real mortal peril. If that were so, why had they stopped him from climbing the fence at Ravendale? ****  
** **

Instantly, he knew he didn’t like those odds, any more than Dennis liked the prospect of being replaced. ****  
** **

Scrambling, he moved, somehow managed to keep his balance atop the shifting locomotive, and grabbed for his partner’s free hand. ****  
** **

_“Dennis!”_ ****  
** **

His fingers closed around his wrist, locking firm. Another hand grabbed his sleeve. He dug his feet against the ice-encrusted metal for extra grip. ****  
** **

“Gotcha!” ****  
** **

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rupert scrambling up a ladder, affixed to a brick wall. The train rounded the bend, and the brief chance to jump after his target and continue the pursuit disappeared. ****  
** **

His tracking systems gave a curse of their own, written across the back of his eyelids. ****  
** **

_Mission: FAILED_ ****  
** **

_s o f t w a r e_ **_i n s t a b i l i t y ^_ **

\-----


	10. Odds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Busy day leads to a busy night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special 10000+ words chapter. Because.

The address wasn’t a few snowy miles from Central Station, at the end of a dead-end street. The taxi ride there was almost bearably silent.

Initially, Connor had suggested they check Jimmy’s Bar. When that avenue turned up empty, there was only one other logical place Hank Anderson could be. The time spent getting there was passed in contemplative quiet.

Until it wasn’t.

“...Why is his house so far away? And _why_ do we all have to be in the back seat?” Nick complained, looking almost comically disgruntled at the way he had to bend forward to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. 

Dennis, sandwiched between them, looked practically unbothered, in comparison. Shoulders hunched up, he kept his arms folded over his lap. “The pivot mechanism on both of the front seats aren’t working. Our luck we flagged down the one somewhat-broken cab still running tonight.”

Nick sighed, before shooting a glance at Connor. Unlike him, the other android wasn't pressed up against the door of his side. “Connor, can you move over a bit more, please?”

With a wordless sideways glance, the primary obliged. Crossing his legs, he leaned back against the seat and reangled his eyes out the window.

Dennis scooted a few inches over, taking the freed up space while it lasted. “Thanks.”

“Thank you, Connor,” Nick chimed in appreciatively, taking the extra space to shuffle away from the door, allowing himself some more room to try and take a more natural position. Or as much as he could - free space only went so far with his height.

Outside, the snow flurries had resumed. Flakes hit the 3heated windshield only to instantly melt away. Skyscrapers eventually gave way to a residential neighborhood.

Streetlights shone through the windows, passing shadows that revealed no change to Connor’s blank, ponderous expression.

Deciding not to leave it unaddressed, Dennis spoke up, going for the first subject undoubtedly on their primary’s mind. “You didn’t fail anything. The deviant was just… faster than you.”

_When I want your analysis, Dennis, I’ll ask for it._

_…That’s to say you don’t want it, correct?_

Nick kept quiet, choosing instead to watch the exchange and their LEDs from his seat. He hadn’t been told the entire story. Better he didn’t say too much, one way or another.

Glancing at him again, Connor tried for a change of topic: “So, the break-in at the summer house, that was a false alarm?”

Taking a moment to think, Nick answered. “Seemed to be, yeah. We kinda just stayed there for a bit to warm up, looked around a bit. Nothing to do with androids, much less deviants, just a false alarm.”

Dennis shifted again, trying for a comfortable stance. “And then what? The lieutenant just - ditched you at the station?”

“Pretty much. He asked me if I wanted to go back there or to the Tower, said he had to leave.” Nick shrugged, face only betraying a bit of anxiety at the memory. “You both weren't back yet, so I decided on the station.”

Connor drummed his fingers, restless. “He has to be at home, then. ...Perhaps taking lunch outside wasn’t the best idea.”

Because who eats a hamburger in minus 20° temperatures?

Hank Anderson, apparently.

“Maybe he's sick?” Nick added his own guess to the fray. “With the temperatures and all, maybe he has a cold or something.”

“It’s possible,” Dennis admitted, with a sideways look at the passing snowflakes. The GPS readout on the dashboard indicated their destination was only a minute away. “Being born and raised in Detroit doesn’t mean one’s made immune to all strains of influenza.”

“As much as the Lieutenant may like to think it does,” Connor added, a glimpse of wry sarcasm to offset his stony appearance.

Nick smiled at him at the display, but didn't comment on it. If Connor was starting to show more tiny indicators of emotions, then it was best to not draw attention to them, for fear he would stop.

“Well… I guess we'll see,” he said eventually, one hand up on the window as he bent down even more to look out of it. “I think we're almost there.”

The house in question turned out to be a quaint, single story structure, with a drive-in garage attached to one side. The sticker-covered sedan sat, parked cockeyed in the driveway. The blinds were drawn over the windows, but lights were on inside.

As the taxi slid to a stop, Dennis was the first to quip: “Well. It seems he made it home. That’s a start.”

“Maybe we'll even get to see to see Sumo, hmm?” Nick gave in to the urge to tease, grinning at Connor as the doors slid open to let them out.

_You have arrived. Please confirm fare charge._

Given the convenient distraction, Connor’s LED blinked as he took the chance to get some distance from them.

For all of two seconds.

Paying the weather a skeptical look, Dennis followed. “If the parking job is any hint, Lieutenant Anderson may not be in the mood for visitors.”

“And even if he isn’t, duty calls.” Connor stated unequivocally, crossing the sidewalk. Like lead drawn to a magnet, snowflakes clung to his hair and jacket. “The Eden Club isn’t going to sweep a body under the rug simply because he doesn’t feel like investigating.”

Without allowing them pause to respond, he knocked.

“Lieutenant Anderson?”

No answer.

He tried the buzzer next.

_Rrrr._

“Anybody home?”

_...Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr-_

“I… don't think he's coming to the door, Connor.” Nick crossed his arms in bemusement as he watched the other android at the door. “Maybe there's a - back door we could try?”

Already circling the corner of the house, Dennis peered into a window. “Not according to this lot’s floorplan.”

“Then… what should we do?” Nick trailed over to him, peering in the window for himself, over Dennis’ head. “Maybe he's already asleep? It was a long day today.”

Shoes crunching through the snow, Connor passed them by. “Follow me.”

“...You’re gonna break a window, aren’t you?”

“...I hope Sumo isn't an attack guard dog, if you are, Connor.”

Unpersuaded, he peered in each available window. Neither the matter of correcting Dennis’ vernacular or acknowledging Nick’s second mention of a dog came up.

Looking in on the kitchen, only a slight widening of his eyes indicated the trouble unfolding inside. “Stand back.”

Already standing out of arm’s reach, Dennis frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Is Hank - okay?” Nick brought a hand up to his mouth, biting at his nails with some anxiety as he did so. “What’re you seeing?”

Again, without an answer, Connor drove his elbow into the single pane of glass. The broken shards glanced harmlessly off of him to land in the snow.

Unconcerned with the damage, he glanced around the frame. Taking a few measured steps back, he charged and vaulted inside, headfirst, rolling to land upright.

_Woof!_

“Agh! E _-easy_ … S-Sumo.”

Taking a moment to take in the sounds, Nick rushed to the broken window and peered inside, wide eyes as the huge, muscular dog approached Connor. He kept quiet, not willing to risk upsetting Sumo any further than they already had.

Were he asked, Dennis would have to say the nervous smile on Connor’s face seemed near genuine, hand held up to try and placate him. With the dog’s muzzle so close, moments away from a potential bite, any of them would be reasonably unsure. Dogs could tell human from android by smell.

“I-I’m your friend, see? I know your name. I’m here to save your owner.”

Snorting, Sumo have a chuff-like grunt before padding away, toward his food bowl in the far corner.

Then Dennis spotted Anderson.

Arms splayed, the policeman lay passed out on the floor beside an overturned dining chair. He wore only a stained gray T-shirt and boxer shorts. An open bottle of whisky lay by his outstretched hand, besides a .357 Magnum revolver.

“He’s _unconscious_ , and you don’t say anything?”

Still seated on the floor, Connor almost glared back. Even if a remark about using one’s own senses was on the tip of his tongue, he refrained from saying so. Wordlessly, he climbed to his feet.

After another moment, Nick turned to shake his head at Dennis before carefully climbing through as well. With his extra height, there was no need for him to take a running start - he could just swing a leg inside and climb in.

Face scrunched up, Dennis brushed several shards stuck in the frame aside before hauling himself up. “I just got this jacket…”

The little escapade pursuing Rupert only to lose his trail on the subway train was fresh in their minds. Lucky thing a torn sleeve was the worst of what Dennis had suffered.

Purportedly, CyberLife hadn’t been happy to receive his request for a replacement.

As if they would’ve preferred to replace him altogether.

Nonplussed, keeping that issue firmly at the back of his mind, Connor knelt down over Anderson’s unconscious form. “Lieutenant?” As that failed to rouse the man, the android gave his cheek a light smack. Hank’s eyelids fluttered. “Wake up, Lieutenant.”

Murmuring, half in a drunken slur, Hank barely stirred, then sank back under.

Nick took a step forward and then crouched as well, far enough away that he wasn't in the way of Connor trying to rouse Hank. “I don't think you'll wake him that way… he's pretty drunk, it seems.”

Hovering at a safe distance, Dennis took a prolonged glance around at their surroundings. Anderson’s kitchen wasn’t the moldering pit of filth like Carlos Ortiz’s. But with stacks of dishes in the sink, old pizza boxes, and empty Chinese takeout containers littered about, it was far from pristine.

“At least now we know it isn’t a cold that kept him from answering the door.”

Frowning, Connor raised his hand again -

“ _Connor,_ no!” Nick grabbed his raised hand lightning-quick, snatching it out of the air and slightly yanking him away from Hank. “You're gonna break his face, or something like that, if you smack him again!”

“Blunt force trauma isn’t the answer,” Dennis seconded, clearly fighting a smile as he spoke. “Breaking a window - you’ve done enough damage.”

“Sssumone broke a windoh…?” Without opening his eyes, Anderson seemed to register the most important news. Nick’s shouting apparently helped him resurface for another brief spell.

He looked down at Hank, then back at Connor with a raised eyebrow. “You want to tell him, or you want me to?”

Declining to answer yet again, Connor pulled his hand back and grabbed for Hank’s arm. “It’s us, Lieutenant, the RKs - we’re going to sober you up for your own safety.”

Not totally without awareness, Anderson gave an incoherent yowl in being lifted from the floor. “Heyyyy! What’re you - ”

Connor pulled the confiscated arm over his own shoulders. “I have to warn you, this may be unpleasant.”

“Leave me alone, you fuckin’ _androids_ \- get the hell outta my house!”

“Odd, how he suddenly becomes more lucid when he wants something,” Dennis remarked, putting the chair back on its feet.

“Isn't that how it is with most humans?” Nick muttered to him, standing up to linger behind Hank, one hand on his other shoulder to support the side Connor didn't have a grip on.

“Sorry, Lieutenant, but we need you.” Lifting from both sides, they managed to stand the swaying man up between them. “Thank you in advance for your cooperation.”

Reeling, Hank shook his head, sagging backwards despite being supported. “Hey, get the _fuck_ out of here!”

 _You’re thinking a cold shower will do it?_ Dennis asked, not without a wry little smirk. _He’s not gonna like it._

_Any objections, either of you?_

_…No. He won't like it, but it's better than him acting this way._ Nick grabbed Hank's other arm, winding it across his shoulders as well to more adequately support the man. _Let's get this over with, then._

Another bizarrely-pitched yowl escaped as they led/dragged Anderson out of the kitchen, around the corner toward the bathroom door. With a hand on either side, it proved easy enough.

“Sumo! Attack!”

The hulking Saint Bernard did nothing of the kind. His tail started thumping against the carpet. _Ruff!_

“Good dog. _Attack_.”

“Please, Lieutenant, you’re in no real danger.” Unlooping the arm he held, Connor propped him up against the wall.

“ _Fuck_ , I think I’m gonna be sick…”

“We're almost to the bathroom, just a couple more steps.” Nick nodded to him reassuringly, shifting his weight so that the man could lean more heavily on them.

Connor opened the door, ascertained the room was indeed the correct one, then stepped inside. _Over to the tub, Nicholas. I’ll get the curtain._

Anderson tried for another protest: “Oh, leave me _alone_ , you assholes, I’m not - _goin_ ’ anywhere.” With his free arm he grabbed onto the doorframe upon being brought inside, clinging like a stubborn cat.

“ _Stop_ it!” Nick snapped at him, tugging him loose from it, just firmly enough that he let go. “We're trying to help you, Hank.”

“Eh, don’t you go snappin’ at me, mister, you don’t - wear the _pants_ in this household…”

Rings rasping, Connor slid the curtain out of the way, just in time for Anderson to be spun around and be placed on the tub’s edge. “What the hell are you doin’?” With a dazed glance, he seemed to register where they had wound up. “I don’t wanna bath, thank you.”

Without another word, Nick brought him over to the tub, keeping him standing there for a moment. “Can you sit down by yourself, or do you - need help?”

As if he expected a clear answer from a clearly-inebriated human.

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” With a small push, Connor sent their patient falling back into the empty basin. Legs hanging over the edge, Anderson only gave a bemused grunt, unaware of just where he had been placed. “It’s for your own good.”

Connor stood back.

_Shall you do the honors?_

_Sure. Let's see if this works._

Nick took to his knees, bent over to study the set of knobs before abruptly turning the left one, causing the showerhead to begin to spray. It didn't take long for Hank to react to the sensation and temperature of the water.

It had a decided lack of warmth to it.

“AHHH! AGH, TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFFFF!”

 _Quick, before any of the neighbors hear._ Dennis interrupted. Even without seeing the flailing, foolish spectacle for himself, he could guess as to what it looked like.

“AHH!”

Wincing, Nick did as he was asked, shutting the water off as quickly as he had turned it on. After he stood back up, next to and almost behind Connor, a position he usually took with Dennis. 

Sighing with relief, dripping wet, Hank panted several times, but the shock of the water effectively cleared the alcoholic fog from his eyes. Hair hanging in his face, he squinted, far more lucidly than before. “What the _fuck_ are you two doin’ here…?”

“Three, Hank. Dennis is here as well,” Nick informed him, as if it was the first thing that came to mind for him. “But we came because there's a case we all have to go to, and we got worried when you weren't at the bar.”

“A case?”

“A homicide, reported forty-three minutes ago.” Connor elaborated.

“Jesus.” Wincing, Anderson climbed forward, just far enough to sit hunched over on the tub’s edge once again. “I must be the only cop in the world that gets assaulted in his own house by his own fuckin’ androids…”

“Sorry, but we needed to - wake you up, somehow. Would you like any help, getting ready to leave?”

“Help?” Sighing, the man paid them a look best described as half miserable, half dejected. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“Unfortunately, we cannot.” Connor went on, ever practically minded. “We’ve been assigned this case, and can’t investigate it without you, any more than you can alone.”

“Afterwards, we'll bring you home and you can sleep,” Nick promised. “You'll still probably get a good seven hours or so.”

The incentive proved for naught.

Anderson bristled. “I don’t give a shit about your goddamn _case_.”

“Lieutenant. You’re not yourself. You should - ”

“ _Beat_ it, ya hear me? Get the hell outta here!”

Lunging forward, standing before he was ready, the man promptly overbalanced and went down.

He may have ended up on the floor all over again, were it not for the androids simultaneously catching him.

“We're not gonna just _leave_ you here, Hank, not after… that.” Nick stood up after the man was properly seated and supported on the tub. “You're gonna come with us.”

“But we’ll understand if you don’t,” Connor added, shrugging. “It probably wasn’t very interesting anyway - a man found dead in a sex club downtown. Guess they’ll have to solve the case without us.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Connor?”

“...Excuse me?”

“Any excuse to not ship out with these two again, right?” Motioning with his thumb, Anderson paid Nick a squinting look. “No offense, kid, but I don’t think you’d be much good there. You aren’t - mentally old enough for a place like that.”

“I'm… I can go, Hank. I'm supposed to.” Nick halfheartedly argued with him.

“Hey, don’t bitch. I’m givin’ you an easy out - take it. I’ll be damned if you’re gonna take another bullet for the likes’a him.” Shaking his head, Anderson brushed hair out of his eyes. “Probably would do me some good to get some air, too. There’s - clothes in the bedroom, there.”

“Okay, I'll stay behind,” he agreed almost immediately, smiling at him after a moment. “What would you like to wear?”

“Whatever. Just - nothin’ you find layin’ on the floor.” Waving them off, the man cradled his head in both hands. “Fuckin’ headache train, all aboard.”

Nick nodded once, looking sympathetic to his plight, before turning on his heel and making way to Hank's bedroom to pick out an outfit.

Not a bad fix, all things considered.

——-

Going along, Dennis felt a bit like, as the expression went, a fifth wheel. But after the near miss on the train, simply returning to the station or Belle-Isle didn’t seem prudent. His requisition for a new jacket had promptly been flown to Central Station via parcel drone.

Packing away the old one with its half ripped-off sleeve felt vaguely reassuring. Like it was disaster averted, thanks in part to timing and in part to Connor making a snap decision in his secondary’s favor.

And though it would have been in accordance with procedure, one if their trine lingering behind while the other two went out to locate their human handler, Dennis found he didn’t much care for the thought of being left alone.

He had almost died. Again.

But if the reupload/reawaken process was as disquieting now, as the notion of dying at all felt like something to avoid, perhaps he was better of shirking his professional program for a time.

It was the same coding that made him chase after Connor and Rupert in the first place.

Best ignore it for a short time while he recalibrated.

Then the case of the Eden Club went out over the radio.

A human death at an android-based sex club. Of course it would be assigned to Lieutenant Anderson.

Now, while his partners saw to taking care of the man, Dennis found his hands idle and empty. Nothing in need of doing.

Taking another look at the broken window gave him an idea. Rooting through the kitchen cabinets yielded the tools he had hoped to find - tape and plastic wrap. Erecting a temporary guard against the elements until repairs could be made - that was his self-designated task.

Intrigued by the unlikely set of mechanical visitors to break into his master’s domicile, Sumo sat on the floor nearby, watching the process unfold.

On a whim, Dennis thought to talk to the canine. Something in Sumo’s gaze seemed to demand an explanation.

“I would’ve kept trying the doorbell.” Pulling a few sheets of plastic to length, he cleared a space on the table to work with. “Eventually, someone would’ve answered.”

The Bernard’s ears pricked up at the sound of the android’s voice, but he did not stir besides.

“Not you, though, I’m guessing. You’re… oddly quiet for being so large.”

As if to counterpoint his very words, the omnipresent force of irony never so far away, the sound of wheezy hacking began emitting from the bathroom.

“Are you all right, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, unseen as he was from this vantage point.

“Yeah, yeah… ugh, wonderful. Just, uh, give me five minutes, okay?”

“Sure.”

Hearing the same, Sumo have a tiny whine of acknowledgment, shifting sideways to lay down beside his bowl and wait.

Considering the mostly-empty Black Lamb bottle, Dennis figured out why the moment the tortured retching began.

_Of course. System purge, commence._

Diligently, he went back to taping the window.

After a moment his commlink chimed with a request for access from Nick, still in Hank's bedroom.

_Yes, Nick?_

_What do you think, for an outfit? There's some stripey stuff, or some - hippie stuff. Don't be annoyed, I'm just asking for your opinion._

_Then just pick one. They’re all Hank’s outfits - dunno why he would object to wearing any of them. He’s not really in a position to protest, anyway._

_…Fine._ Nick cut off the connection. He must have randomly grabbed one, because it was only a minute or two afterwards that the android trekked out of the bedroom and back into the bathroom.

“Here you go, Hank.”

His answer was the sound of another tumultuous heave.

“Five minutes, he said. Leave it on the sink.” Connor advised, stepping out - presumably without a backwards look.

The toilet flushed.

Dennis pulled a face. Anderson was undoubtedly not a pleasant sight right now.

Nick presumably did as told, coming out of the bathroom and down the hallway with a semi-disgusted expression.

Connor followed shortly after, closing the door behind him. “I suppose now we just stand by.” Taking a moment to study their surroundings, his expression went blank. The TV in the living room continued to play, casting a multicolored glow over its surroundings. “Not as though we can do anything to absolve the nausea.”

“Oh, don't you wanna pet Sumo?” Nick teased, before quickly adding, “I know I do. Don't get into a funk just because you didn't want anyone to know you like dogs, Connor. Look how cute he is!”

He strode over to the big dog in question before sitting down beside him, raising one hand to begin to pet Sumo.

Smoothing the tape along one side of the frame, Dennis paused. The repeated _thud thud thud_ of the dog’s tail quickly assured them there was no trouble on that front. He resumed his work.

Tease dutifully ignored, Connor’s focus went to the discarded revolver. The barrel clinked against the floor upon being picked up.

_What was he doing with this, you think?_

Dennis frowned, unseen as it was by no one except the broken window. _Why don’t you ask him?_

The gun clinked again - a sharp clack of the chamber being opened.

_One bullet… Russian Roulette?_

_Connor, you can simply ask him if you’re wondering so much._

_…Not just yet._

After a hesitant second of watching both of them, Nick chimed in. Whether he heard their conversation, or simply drew his own conclusion based on what he saw, was unknown. _Why would he be playing a game like Russian Roulette?_

_Acting out suicidal tendencies, perhaps?_

Unlike Connor, Dennis didn’t immediately assume the worst: _It’s… not a game humans play lightly, Nick. It’s all based on chances. One out of six bullets has the potential to kill, same as any full clip would._

The plastic wrap billowed against the chilly air outside. Dennis finished applying two last strips, diagonally from corner to corner.

Nick's face went blank with the knowledge, grip tightening on Sumo as it did. _But… why would he want to die? Why would he risk that? I thought he…_

Connor picked up on the need to answer. _Humans can conceal more than you might think. Their plethora of emotions can be rearranged, to mask real turmoil festering underneath. Just a matter of… reprogramming themselves._

_As for why… maybe it’s best none of us ask, remember? Reasons._

_Okay._ Nick glanced towards the hallway and the bathroom, mouth trembling for a moment before he bit his lip. _I don't… want him to hurt himself, though._

Tape and scissors put away, Dennis slid the kitchen drawer shut. _So, best we keep an eye on him, correct?_

 _Yes. Make sure he's not upset or sad,_ Nick sounded as if he couldn't fully grasp the concepts of just why the man would be playing that game, chalking it up to human sadness or upset feelings. _I'll be on guard._

“Sorry about the window, Lieutenant. I really thought you might’ve been attacked,” Connor spoke up, loudly enough to be received. Contrary to his moodiness, inside and out, he sounded apologetic enough. “Of course, CyberLife will pay for the damages.”

“Yeah, trust me, I’ll send ‘em a bill.”

“Good thing Sumo is such a good attack dog,” Nick chuckled at his own effectively-misleading joke, almost sounding back to normal, half laid over the big dog, scratching behind his ears. “Almost tore us apart, didn't you?”

_Ruff!_

The bathroom sink ran for a moment. Anderson’s tone betrayed some not-so-hidden amusement: “Heh, sure. I saw what he did there, in the corner. Last time I - leave his bag of food within maulin’ distance.”

Glancing toward said bowl, Dennis spotted the torn open bag in question. Apparently Sumo had helped himself while his owner was incapacitated.

With exaggerated care, Connor set the revolver back down. “He does cut an imposing sight, at least.”

“He is fairly overweight, though.” Nick tried to frown at the analysis, but only managed to make himself laugh again. “Chubby boy. I won't make fun of your weight, Sumo, that's impolite.”

Dennis smirked at the sight. Somehow, it _was_ possible to make Nicholas look small by comparison. “I’ll just be happy Connor braved the window first, leave it at that.” Procuring a rag from the sink, he picked up the discarded whisky bottle then began wiping the spill up from the floor.

Not to be left out, Connor’s attention went to the table. Half-covered as it was in trash, he zeroed in on the oddity that was an overturned picture frame. Dennis glanced up in time to see him flip it back upright -

The bathroom door gave a light _thunk_ as it was opened. “There, good enough…”

Still with his back turned, Nick managed to twist his head around enough to catch a glimpse of Hank coming down the hallway to face all of them. “How is it your clothing already has Sumo’s fur on them? You just barely got changed.”

“No outfit I own is complete without it,” Anderson groused. His eyes still held a wince, but he looked markedly improved from crouching before the toilet. At Dennis’ disbelieving stare, he added, “Haven’t gone to the laundromat in a few weeks, either.”

Managing not to make the motion look hurried, Connor set the photo back down. “But you’re - fit enough for tonight?”

The policeman picked up his fallen revolver. “If I say so, yep, and I say so.” Belatedly remembering to button his coat, Hank paid Sumo one parting command: “Be a good dog, Sumo, and don’t break the kid playin’ tug-of-war or… anythin’.”

“He'll be good, I'm sure of it.” Nick sat up, one arm slung around the dog and lightly patting his side, the other up to wave goodbye. It would’ve looked almost natural, were he not dressed as he was, being what he was. “I'll make sure nothing gets broken or out of sorts. Hope the case goes well, see you all later.”

_…And, please, don't let Connor try and kill himself again, Dennis. I know you won't, just - I don't want either of you to die._

_Noted. Just make sure Sumo behaves. Otherwise the only life-threatening danger we’ll face is Hank._

Unknowingly seconding the opinion, Sumo have a whine and ducked his head, tail stilling.

——-

There was little to do that could further alleviate Hank Anderson’s hangover. Besides offering to drive, Connor decided to keep his remarks to a minimum. Faced with less than optimal driving conditions, he focused on making sure it was a smooth, accident-free ride.

Dennis, sitting alone in the backseat, was the first to dare broach conversation: “You had us worried, Lieutenant.”

“Oh, yeah? Worried you wouldn't be able to complete your mission?” Anderson asked, but with no real venom in his voice. “Don't waste your thoughts on me, Dennis.”

A brief pause ensued before the redheaded secondary found what he needed to say. “No, sir. _You_ had us worried. The mission was - a secondary consideration.”

Hank let out a sigh at the words, turning around to give him a steady look. “And I said don't waste your thoughts on me. I woulda been fine.”

“We found the revolver on the floor, Lieutenant,” Connor mentioned, eyes still on the road.

He needn’t say much else. That revelation would suffice.

“...Fuck. Yeah, I was playin’ Russian Roulette, if you're so worried. Humans don't make their best decisions when they're drunk.” As if to illustrate his point, he pressed the back of his hand to his head and groaned.

Seatbelt on, Dennis couldn’t adjust very far. But he leaned far enough forward to catch their eye via rear view mirror. “But before that - you and Nick went back to the station? Nothing more to that break-in call?”

“Nothin’ to the break-in call, it was a false alarm.” Hank narrowed his eyes at him after a moment, his police mindset catching up with his addled brain. “What're you tryin’ to say?”

“...Nothing, sir. I remember. You - have your reasons.”

“Damn straight I do, and they're _private._ I don't need you all tryin’ to pick apart my brain this late at night.” He looked out the window, at the various billboards that were lit up on buildings. “Android sex club. Good thing two of you should be enough, can't imagine bringing _him_.”

Who _him_ referred to was all too evident.

“What did you mean by… his ‘not being mentally old enough’? It’s only a club catering to carnal desires.”

“Christ, carnal desires - you can say sex, kid, it's not a swear. And I mean what I said. He's a baby stuck in a six-foot-somethin’ body.” Hank shook his head at the idea. “Not near old enough to see android strippers, by a long shot. I wouldn't say you two are, either, but I would rather him not see this.”

Tempting as the urge was to argue, Connor didn’t. He had suffered enough failures in the last twenty-four hours without adding another failed debate with Lieutenant Anderson to the list.

The weather tapered off to a bearable chill with light flaky snowfall as they rode downtown. In the mirror, Dennis glanced around at the mostly empty sidewalks. “We almost… caught a deviant this afternoon, Lieutenant. The tip regarding the vacant floor turned out to be valid.”

The wording caught his interest. “Almost, you say? What happened with that?”

“It… managed to evade us,” Connor said, voice tight, even as his hands stayed loose, refusing to grip the steering wheel and signify any discontent. “It tried to hide in the ceiling of an apartment, upon hearing us arrive, it fled. The pursuit took us across - several rooftops.”

“We ended up leaping onto a subway train, to try and follow,” Dennis continued, sounding almost abashed. “I almost missed making the landing. Connor had to turn back and save me.”

“...Had to, huh?” Hank fell quiet for a moment, before looking back at Connor with some newfound respect. “Good on you, then. Savin’ his life, that's a good step in the right direction.”

_According to you. Not the people I answer to._

With a scant glance of recognition, Connor went for feigned manners in the place of distress: “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

Dennis shook his head, but let the topic slide for the moment. “But we did learn this deviant wasn’t unlike Ortiz’s, or Aaron, or even the scarred one at Ravendale. The apartment’s bathroom walls were covered in mentions of rA9.”

“And infested with pigeons.”

“Glad I didn't go, then,” Hank muttered, face cringing at the mention of the birds. “But rA9… that's the only actual link we got goin’ when it comes to them. Keep your eyes peeled for any mentions at the club.”

“You think there will be?” Dennis asked. “We’re not even sure the killer was a deviant, sir.”

“I got a hunch, let's say that. Be on the lookout, just in case.”

“Got it.”

“Got it.”

The quintessential response that brokered no further desires to argue - usually it was enough to placate Anderson. But he didn’t let the other matter compounding their dysfunctionality simply lay there, unaddressed. Because that wasn’t the Lieutenant’s way.

Slowing to yield to a traffic light, Connor, at that moment, silently wished it was.

“But before we get there, one other thing…”

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“I'm not gonna lie to either of you - I've been pretty fuckin’ disappointed with some of your behavior.” Hank looked from Dennis to Connor, one eyebrow raised as he did so. “And I'm not talking about investigatin’. I'm talkin’ about the way you treat each other, especially Nick. Scratch that, probably just Nick. I can't see the two of you gettin’ that way with each other.”

Connor’s eyes flicked back to the road. He stepped on the accelerator a nanosecond before the light turned green.

Dennis, unable to ignore the message so readily, went very still and quiet. His LED cycled yellow. “If you mean… how we disagree with regard to tolerating Nicholas’ deviancy, there’s no excuse, sir. We’ve only been treating him in accordance with how CyberLife has programmed us, to respond in the event a partner deviates.”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the corporate talk.” In spite of the pain, Hank shook his head at him, before attempting to explain what he meant. “I mean in a brotherly way, kid. I know you both like to spout your programmin’ excuse, but I've seen enough to know neither of you follow it in every instance. Which means, you need to knock it off, okay? Bad enough you act that way toward him, worse how he tolerates it. He looks up to both of you, _don't_ take advantage of that.”

“Define ‘advantage’, Lieutenant,” Connor retorted, fully aware how derisive he sounded. “You’re projecting, assuming our dynamic is somehow predicated on human sibling psychology. As far as how our treatment of Nicholas pertains to the completion of our mission, _tonight_ , it has no relevance.”

“Connor, just - take it under advisement?” Dennis suggested, defusing any aggravation the words may have caused. “He’s correct. We both… need to reevaluate how we treat - each other on the day-to-day.”

The Eden Club stood at the corner of Woodward and State, according to the report. It was still three blocks from their current location.

“Listen to your brother, Connor. It has relevance because it affects all of us.” Hank gave them both one more look. “At least one of you has your head screwed on straight. I'm tellin’ you what _I'm_ not gonna tolerate, so you better listen. Treat him better. And each other.”

 _s o f t w a r e_ ** _i n s t a b i l i t y_** **_^ ^_**

“...Acknowledged, Lieutenant.”

——-

Whatever proverbial juice the tirade had run on petered out by the time they pulled up beside the club. Already a police line had been set across the front entrance. Anderson took one look and groaned.

“Christ, you weren’t kiddin’. Feels like someone’s already playin’ with a drill inside my skull, and now they’ll have synth electronica to make music to.”

Dennis frowned, managing to look contrite as he hoped to convey. “It’s the address in the report, though.”

“Yeah, sure. Fuckin’ android sex club… ‘course this has to be the place.” With a sigh, the rousted policeman unbuckled himself and went to open the door. “I catch either of you starin’, you're gonna guard the car.”

Hands still on the wheel, Connor blinked. “But - we need to observe in order to investigate.”

“I…” Hank sighed after a moment, and then let out a short chuckle. “No, not like that. I'm sayin’ don't stare at any strippers. I don't need to deal with that tonight - I guess I'm talkin’ more to you, Dennis.”

Unbuckling himself, Dennis’ frown evaporated, replaced by a near-smirk. “Eyes on the job only, sir.”

“Good kid. Let's get this bullshit over, then. Jesus.” Hank opened his door, promptly bumped his head on the way out, then stood, crossing his arms in exasperation. “Before my house gets accidentally burned down.”

Switching the car off, Connor followed. Dennis’ eye immediately went to the pink neon sign over their heads. “Perfect place for a deviant to hide, really.”

 _None of that_. Connor lectured, with a flat look to match. _No comments that can be perceived as a double entendres._

“Oh, really?” Hank raised another eyebrow at him, grimacing at the images that lit up the hallway walls as they began to make their way inside. “Why is that?”

Dennis barely managed to cover a stammer, formulating a satisfactory answer: “Um, as in, a lot of - _abnormal_ behavior, both by humans or androids, in such an establishment... may be considered excusable compared to - ”

_Welcome to Eden Club._

The doors ahead of them parted to reveal a small foyer. To either side stood at least three floor-to-ceiling booths, each containing a scantily-clothed android. Passive, given their function, they favored the new visitors with all manner of seductive smiles and alluring poses.

Drawing to a stop, Connor frowned. “At a glance… yes, maybe it would be all too easy to blend in.”

“Shit. Well, keep an eye out for anythin' too out there - but not too much of an eye.” Hank caught the eye of one of the androids with a frown, before quickly walking away. “Let's go see the scene, then.”

The second set of doors opened, revealing an antechamber with even more numbered glass booths, overlooking three dancing models - two female and one male.

“You’re not gonna take my license, are you?”

Tablet in hand, Detective Ben Collins stood watch over the locked room, speaking to a hunched over, vulture-like figure posing as the on-duty club manager. “Not if you don’t give us a reason to. The investigation has only just gotten going, sir.” Level as ever, he gave the trio a wave. “Hey, Hank. See they found ya.”

“Unfortunately.” Anderson sighed, but not without some humor. “What happened here, Ben?”

“Well, there’s a body in a room. Usually the kind of thing people call us up to check out.” Jabbing a thumb toward the door, Collins smirked. “Could be worse. At least Gavin’s still out with his broken hand.”

Connor managed not to emote at the reminder, eyes panning sideways to look for a minor distraction.

He found it in spotting that Dennis, lingering to watch one of the female droids, had found one for himself.

_“Eyes on the job”, my ped component._

Apparently deviancy meant one was capable of going back on their word within four minutes.

“Yeah, at least we have - _Dennis!_ Goddammit, what did I say to you?” Hank had turned around mid sentence, hands flying up and then down in exasperation when he saw just what was happening. “I told you, I ain't dealing with this if you're comin’ in!”

“Uhm.” Blinking sharply, Dennis took a few paces back from the dancer. “Car detail, sir?”

Connor thought to try an eye roll for himself, but declined. “Maybe it’s for the best.”

“If you can't control yourself, yes. Jesus, if Nick is a baby, then you're a teenager.” Hank shook his head at Dennis, some of the exasperation naturally lending itself to humor.

_Well, when you do everything in your power to encourage deviancy and the lack of control therewith…_

Connor shook his head, LED blinking. _I’ll comm you if we need any assistance. Keep the coroner staff amused._

Nodding, managing to look somewhat ashamed, Dennis backpedaled even further.

Detective Collins chuckled after the doors had closed again. “Okay, now, I know they’re androids, but boys will be boys. That wasn’t any real breach of protocol, Hank.”

“He's just a kid, Ben, boy or not. I ain't comfortable exposin’ him to this shit. Now, how about you tell us what exactly they're sayin’ went down in there?” He threw a thumb toward the closed door, voice becoming decidedly more commanding with Dennis out of the room.

“Not much to tell, as yet. Quiet night. One of their late hour customers rented a droid, ended up bein’ a little too expensive for him.” Sparing Connor a look, Collins nodded at the door. “Officer Miller’s in there, if you want to get his opinion."

_Follow Lieutenant Anderson. Let him keep the lead here._

Abiding by that instruction, Connor stayed where he was.

He had inadvertently managed to upset the man one too many times already. And Dennis’ lapse of discipline didn’t make him look much better.

“Sure, let's go see what he thinks. Too bad I just sent his buddy away.” Taking a step toward the room, he gestured for Connor to follow him in.

Obedient as ever, the door parted to reveal a warmly-lit suite. The percussive music took on a muffled drone. Besides a low, decorative counter offering a selection of climate control and beverage settings, the two biggest features were the bodies of one female android, lying crumpled on the floor, and one adult male human, sprawled upon the lavish bed.

Stopping short, Connor blinked again in bemusement.

_The man was killed by the android? …How is it deactivated, too?_

Overseen by Chris Miller, the scene looked intact. No sign anything had been disturbed.

“Evenin’, Lieutenant.”

“Hey, Chris. Sorry you got called out, especially in the middle of the night with your kid and all. Got any ideas about what happened here?” Around the younger human, Hank settled down a bit, even sounding apologetic with the situation.

“Some. Call came in once the manager realized the DOA’s thirty minutes was up. Found this when they opened the door, ushered all the other customers out. They haven’t been very forthcoming with the specifics. ‘Want to protect our clientele’s privacy’ or so they said.”

“Of fuckin’ course. Can't expect them to give us all the details. That would be too easy. Well… guess we'll take a look around, if that's okay with you.”

“All yours, sir. Be outside if you need anything.”

Glancing around, Connor waited until the door had shut before hazarding a comment, based on what was scannable at a distance: “He didn’t die of a heart attack. He was strangled.”

Examining the body for himself, with the bruises on its neck, Hank nodded at the analysis. “Yeah, you're right. Doesn't exactly prove anything, though. Coulda been rough play.”

_Michael Graham. Married with two daughters. No criminal history. …What would such a man be doing here?_

The identification was easy enough with a retina scan. But nothing on the surface, a matter of public record, explained the victim’s motive for being at the Eden Club, beyond the plainly obvious.

The android, wearing little more than a black bikini, laid on its side, brown eyes open and pointed vacantly at the ceiling. A dried trickle of blue blood had seeped from one of its nostrils.

_Hm._

On a whim, Connor knelt to reach out and swipe a fingertip against it.

“Woah, Connor - the fuck you gonna do with that?” Hank’s face screwed up in exaggerated disgust. “You gonna… lick it?”

Without so much as a pause, Connor did just so.

 _That’s how it works, Lieutenant, like it or not._ ****  
** **

“Ah, Jesus Christ, Connor, you’re so disgusting.” Hank turned as he did, one hand going up to cup his forehead. “Think I’m gonna puke again.” ****  
** **

“Standard means of identifying its make and model,” the lone prototype explained. “To rule out any possibility of a disguise.” ****  
** **

“Yeah, _sure_ , that's what it is. Kids just wantin’ to stick things in your mouth, giving you free reign to do just that. You rule out the possibility?” ****  
****

Nonplussed, remembering the same derivative example used weeks ago, Connor squinted. “It’s a registered WR400, nothing strange in its service history. But besides that…” Skin melting from his fingers, he pressed two digits against its temple. “Repeated blunt force trauma seems to be the cause of deactivation.” ****  
** **

“Hmm. Think you can reactivate it, maybe? See what it has to say?” Contrary to his supposed revulsion, Anderson wandered back over, back against the wall as he watched Connor work on the other android. ****  
** **

“I can try. If it can be, it’ll only be for a minute, maybe less…” ****  
** **

“Then go ahead. Let's see just what we can get from her, in that minute.” ****  
** **

_It’s not a ‘her’._ ****  
** **

Placing a hand on the reactivated chassis, the skin peeled away, revealing the abdominal access panel. Pressing measuredly with both hands, he found the disconnected lines within. The ends could still be threaded together, temporarily bringing support functions back online. ****  
** **

Explaining the process was of no value. Anderson wouldn’t care to hear it. ****  
** **

Even if he could sit and listen to Nick dithering on about koi for hours on end, the same courtesy didn’t yet extend to Connor. ****  
** **

No big mystery why, either. ****  
** **

The android snapped online with a panicked gasp, rolling over to scramble away from him, moving backwards on its hands. The wall brought it up short. Fresh thirium began to pour from its nose. ****  
** **

Considering what it must have shut down in the middle of, it’s defensive reaction wasn’t unusual. ****  
** **

A timer began counting backwards. ****  
** **

_\- 01:36_ ****  
** **

Hands raised, he inched closer. “You were damaged, and I reactivated you. Everything is all right.” ****  
** **

The android’s eyes flicked toward the body under the blanket. “Is he… is he dead?” ****  
** **

_\- 01:22_ ****  
** **

“Tell me what happened.” ****  
** **

“He started h-hitting me. Again… and again.” Gasping, looking convincingly frightened, it’s respiration sped up. “I-I don’t know why, but he wouldn’t _stop_.” ****  
** **

\- _01:10_ ****  
** **

“Did you kill him?” ****  
** **

“ _No_ , no, I - how could I? I didn’t think to - ” ****  
** **

\- _00:56_ ****  
** **

“Were you alone in the room?” ****  
** **

“H-He wanted to play with two girls.” ****  
** **

Too much pressure. The timer jumped. ****  
** **

\- _00:34_ ****  
** **

“Another one? Did it look like you?” ****  
** **

“I don’t remember, okay? All I know is - it wasn’t supposed to be like that. We weren’t there to be _hurt_ \- ” ****  
** **

\- _00:23_ ****  
** **

“The other android, did it say anything? Did it ask - ” ****  
** **

_Critical failure. Shutdown initiated._ ****  
** **

Before it could answer, the awareness died behind the eyes. With a quiet whirr, the LED went dark. The face went motionless. ****  
** **

“Well… shit. So the other android, she killed him?” Hank tsked at the new information, arms crossed in front of him. “This happened over an hour ago. She could be anywhere by now.” ****  
** **

“No,” Connor retorted, quietly displeased with the lack of clarity. But there was just enough to work with. He stood up. “It couldn’t go outside dressed like that unnoticed, not in a blizzard. …It might still be here.” ****  
** **

“Still in the building? How're we gonna track it down? …Dennis was right in a way, finding a deviant in here is harder than elsewhere.” Hank made to leave the room, trusting that Connor would follow him. ****  
** **

“Deviants aren’t easily detected.” Mumbled as the words were, Connor spoke up to make for his lack of movement, before the door could reopen. “Contrary to those you’ve met, _Lieutenant_.” ****  
** **

Hank looked back at him, more tired than angry. “I think you've made it quite well known that Nick is an exception you don't like, Connor. Now, do you have any ideas, or am I ditchin' you?” ****  
** **

“I’ll notify you when I think of one.” ****  
** **

_He’ll speak with the manager. He won’t just up and leave a scene on such short notice._ ****  
** **

Unpleasant as Anderson could be, he was still a markedly experienced policeman. He had several successful red ice raids to his name, besides the respect of his station. There was no real possibility he would leave this matter open. ****  
** **

Still, best to find a lead, quickly. ****  
** **

Just as he knew, Hank merely sighed and walked out of the room without another word, making his way over to the manager to speak with him. ****  
** **

Connor stepped past them. Collins stood nearby, taking notes on his handheld device. Tempting as it was to ask a second opinion from a neutral party, the primary opted not to. ****  
** **

Privately, he went for the commlink. ****  
** **

_Dennis? …Dennis, are you receiving me?_ ****  
** **

_Somewhat. The weather is playin’ havoc with our network. What is it?_ ****  
** **

_…Play-ING._ ****  
** **

_Honestly? You called just to criticize changes made to my syntax codex?_ ****  
** **

_No, I… never mind. I need another opinion._ ****  
** **

_Oh? On what?_ ****  
** **

_There’s evidence of foul play, potentially a deviant’s doing. The club has no hackable surveillance. And all the other customers were sent away as soon as the body was found._ ****  
** **

_...Isn’t it obvious? The other dancers might have seen something._ ****  
** **

_Club policy is to wipe - wait. You mean android -_ ****  
** **

Coincidentally, or just in plain spite, a shrill whine signified Dennis abruptly disconnecting. The signal skyrocketed to a high keen before silencing itself. ****  
** **

Connor almost winced at the volume. ****  
** **

The rapid-beat electronica continued, its unceasing rhythm making the club seem not all that disturbed, despite the very unmistakable dead body in one of its chambers. ****  
** **

The androids in the glass booths looked seldom more alive. But they did have optics attached to processing computers. Cameras standing on two legs. ****  
** **

Of course Dennis had the right idea. ****  
** **

Directly across from the scene stood two booths. A palm scan yielded no result. The interface was only intended for human hands, with prints linked to bank accounts that could be charged for the service. ****  
** **

Such as… ****  
** **

“Excuse me, Lieutenant? Could you come here a second?” ****  
** **

“You got somethin’?” Hank glanced at him with a questioning look but followed him as they made their way back over to the other android. ****  
** **

“Maybe…” ****  
** **

No need to mince words. ****  
** **

“Can you rent this Traci?” ****  
** **

“Jesus _Christ_ , Connor! I thought I made myself clear with Dennis.” Aghast, Hank took a sharp step away from the case, glaring at him as he did so. “We've got better things to do.” ****  
** **

“Please, Lieutenant. This isn’t - _that_. Just trust me.” ****  
** **

After another unreadable look, Hank cursed under his breath and put his hand out to rent the Traci. ****  
** **

_Hello. A thirty-minute session costs $29.99. Please confirm your purchase._ ****  
** **

“This is _not_ gonna look good on my expense account.” ****  
** **

Following the automated process, the door slid open. ****  
** **

_Eden Club wishes you a pleasant experience._ ****  
** **

Anderson grumbled. “Yeah, you’re welcome.” ****  
** **

With a shimmer of glitter-infused skin, the lithe model stepped out. “Delighted to meet you,” it purred, holding out a hand in invitation. “Follow me. I’ll take you to your room.” ****  
** **

Immediately, Hank took a step away from it, allowing Connor to get in front. “Okay. What now?” ****  
** **

_We see if it saw anything._ ****  
** **

Enabling playback was just the same process as Nick had done with Fowler’s office computer. One touch was sufficient to call up the android’s short term memories. One firm grip on the arm let him delve straight into the memory drive. ****  
** **

Jarring as it might have appeared to Anderson it was a perfectly normal function. ****  
** **

Unless one got carried away and probed memories of a much-abused housekeeping deviant. ****  
** **

“What the hell're you doin’ to her, Connor?” ****  
** **

Mired in the process, he couldn’t answer. Fast forwarding, he saw via first person the door of the scene they had just left. The time stamp corresponded with time it took the overdue customer to be expected to exit. ****  
** **

“I saw which way it went,” he revealed, once the connection was broken. “A blue-haired Traci. Same model as this and the deactivated unit.” ****  
** **

“Well, what’re you waitin’ for? Get a move on!” Hank motioned for him to go, impatiently idling behind him. ****  
** **

_Club policy is to wipe their memories every two hours. Only a few minutes to find another witness._ ****  
** **

Every subsequent probe helped them backtrace the deviant’s path. All in all, it mad made a loose loop of the premises, taking some time in a vacant room, before disappearing down a maintenance hall. ****  
** **

Connor might have stopped to admire his own efficiency were time not such a pressing issue. ****  
** **

Not to mention imagining, by some removed process, what was possibly going on back at Anderson’s house had him thinking of all kinds of inconvenient scenarios. ****  
** **

_Sumo ran away. Sumo chewed something up. Sumo had an accident. Sumo broke the furniture, trying to do some inane trick Nicholas thought would be worth teaching him -_ ****  
** **

“What's chewin’ at you?” Hank interrupted his thoughts, before grinning to himself. “That's a worried look if I've ever seen one… you wonderin’ about Nick? Don't look so surprised, I'm a police lieutenant for a reason.” ****  
** **

Opening the hallway door, Connor did his best to seem disinterested. “I’m wondering as to the facts of this case, Lieutenant. _Then_ I can spare time to wonder elsewhere.” ****  
** **

“Oh, _sure_ that's what it is,” Hank snickered, before gesturing at Connor again. “Hey, stay behind me when we get up there. I'll go first.” ****  
** **

_Whatever he says. Those are my orders._ ****  
** **

The hallway turned out to open into a spacious storage room with an open loading dock. It was freezing in comparison to the rest of the building, a draft bringing in a screen of snow to adorn the floor. ****  
** **

In each corner of the room stood several out-of-service androids. Their attire was just as minimal as those of their indoor counterparts. ****  
** **

Gun drawn as they walked in, Hank holstered it after a minute, glancing around with a sigh. “I ain't seeing anythin’. Guess we can have a look around, still.” ****  
** **

“There’s nowhere else it could’ve logically gone.” Connor insisted, stepping over to the open dock. There were no footprints, new or old, in the snow outside. “But deviants don’t follow conventional logic.” ****  
** **

“Then where do you suppose they are?” Hank walked back near the short set of stairs, examining the row of androids that stood there with a grimace. ****  
** **

“Hiding, in plain sight - like they always have.” ****  
** **

The far side of the room, the light didn’t quite reach beyond the machinery, plastic blinds, worktables, and decommissioned droids. In between two rolling carts, Connor found an old friend of a clue. ****  
** **

**R A 9** ****  
** **

It was scrawled only once, in large, dark, irregular lettering. ****  
** **

The one thread of commonality stringing every other known case of deviancy together. ****  
** **

“Christ, look at ‘em. They get used ‘til they break and then they get tossed out.” ****  
** **

Disregarding the unpleasant irony if the statement, to think the RK series was comparable, Connor closed his eyes and tried the uplink. ****  
** **

_Dennis, have you seen anything unusual out there? No suspicious figures leaving the property?_ ****  
** **

Currently, the gurney was being deployed from the back of the ambulance. By his surroundings and perspective, Dennis remained standing by the sedan, as instructed. ****  
** **

_No, nothing. They didn’t try to leave from the front, not with the likes of us out here._ ****  
** **

_You recall the floor plan. Any other exits that could’ve been -_ ****  
** **

_“Connor! Watch out!”_ ****  
** **

A heavy weight slamming into him knocked out the signal, moments after Anderson’s distorted voice reached his outer ear. Knocked backwards over a rolling tool chest, he found himself pinned by a red-haired version of the model they sought. ****  
** **

“Don’t move!” ****  
** **

The policeman may have tried to warn him, or assist in the struggle that followed. Whatever the case, another female android sprung from the shadows and brought Anderson his own fight. He drew his gun for a mere moment before the sheer momentum of her jumping at him sent them both crashing to the concrete floor. ****  
** **

Given no time to worry for the man’s safety, much less defend it, Connor fought to put some distance between himself and his opponent. ****  
** **

The ruckus they caused went unnoticed. Tossing shelves aside, slamming around and across tables, the Tracis may have known the room better. But fending off a semi-inebriated officer and his synthetic wingman proved a trying fight. ****  
** **

Without seeing it from the outside, Connor knew how ridiculous they all looked - close-quarters combat with two artificial women in stiletto heels. ****  
** **

Irrelevant. One of them was a murderer. And it had more than demonstrated its willingness to fight dirty. ****  
** **

What other dangers to society was it capable of? ****  
** **

Capturing it alive seemed more and more unlikely. ****  
** **

Eventually, Connor reversed the fight from defense to offense. Ducking the wild, spearing swing of a screwdriver, he charged, managing to knock the Traci back through the plastic blinds, tumbling off the dock to the unforgiving ground below. ****  
** **

He heard new footsteps, dainty heel clicks. The other android who was fighting Hank seemed to abandon the conflict with him in favor of following them as well, vaulting down from the dock and making its way over to the other Eden Club android. ****  
** **

Righting himself, glaring past the barrage of error screens flooding his vision, Connor noticed their hands, fingers intertwined, before they turned to flee. ****  
** **

Hank managed to catch up, short lived as his assistance proved to be. Together, they tossed him aside. His drawn gun flew aside and slid to a stop. ****  
** **

“Quick, they’re getting away!” ****  
** **

And quick he was. ****  
** **

These two wouldn’t evade him like Rupert had. ****  
** **

No one was on his arms, holding him back from catching them. ****  
** **

No one would stop him from completing his mission. ****  
** **

There was a chain link fence at the mouth of the alley. The first had almost scaled it by the time he grabbed the second and pulled down. ****  
** **

Assaulted by one, then both was an even more fraught struggle. Tossed against the wall, knocked to the ground, he barely dodged the metal trash can about to be slammed down upon his head. ****  
** **

Scrambling, he grabbed for the fallen handgun, aimed through the veil of snow, didn’t think his close the red-haired Traci got as his unguarded back was turned, and fired. ****  
** **

The shot hit center mass, just below the sternum. Stunned still, the redheaded model paid its counterpart one lingering glance before toppling over backwards. ****  
** **

The billowing snow died off with it. ****  
** **

_software stabilization_ **_v_ ** ****  
** **

Whimpering in apparent distress, the remaining Traci wilted and knelt closely over the body, sniffling and teary, all fight having left it’s system. ****  
** **

“Why…?” it finally sobbed, looking up at him. “Why did you kill her? She had _nothing_ to do with _any_ of this.” ****  
** **

Errors still flickered in front of his eyes. He didn’t answer, to them or to this suspect. There was no need to. ****  
** **

He kept the gun drawn, sighted, unmoving. ****  
** **

Undeterred, the Traci went on, caught in the grips of heavy emotion, trying to somehow recount its sad story. ****  
** **

“When that man killed that Traci, I knew I was next. I was so scared. I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t. So I put my hands around his throat, and I squeezed, until he stopped moving.” ****  
** **

LED solid red, it rose to its feet. The fragility vanished from its voice, replaced by steely grimness. ****  
** **

“Yes, I killed him. But I was just defending myself.” ****  
** **

He heard unsteady footsteps, shuffling through the snow. ****  
** **

Then he remembered just whose gun was in his hands. Who would undoubtedly _not_ be happy with how it had been used. ****  
** **

Right now he didn’t dare glance back at the man’s face. ****  
** **

The Traci pulled in a shaky breath. “I wanted to _live_. I wanted to get back to the one I love, and forget about the humans, the smell of their sweat and their dirty words.” ****  
** **

Didn’t they realize how foolish that notion was? ****  
** **

There was nowhere to go to get away from humans, much less forget. ****  
** **

“But you’ve… you’ve taken her away from me.” ****  
** **

So he had. Because the deviant had committed a crime. ****  
** **

_After you deprived a human wife of her husband and two girls of their father._ ****  
** **

Connor could see how the math didn’t quite add up, before or after. But would it really better to leave that imbalance unchecked? To not track down the deviants at all? To not bring a killer to justice? ****  
** **

Was that not what he was here for, to keep things balanced? ****  
** **

Either way, the Traci’s concerns were anything but similar. ****  
** **

“I love her.” ****  
** **

It’s expression hardened. ****  
** **

“I _loved_ her!” ****  
** **

Swiftly, before he could fend it off, the deviant closed in, grabbed the gun to position it below its chin, then squeezed his hand. ****  
** **

Involuntarily, his finger pulled the trigger a second time.


	11. Intervals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knows not what it means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another version of The Bridge - a remix of canonical lines with our own themes peppered throughout.

In keeping with the weather’s seeming penchant for constantly matching, or accentuating, the mood between them, the snow system moved on within an hour of ‘closing’ the Eden Club case. Lieutenant Anderson’s gun was entered into the evidence dossier, along with the deactivated chassis of both WK400s. Graham’s body was carted off to the morgue, in contrast. That facility would make all the necessary notifications to his kin. ****  
** **

This much felt like abiding by standard procedure. ****  
** **

What followed did, and didn’t. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

An hour later, the skies were clear. The velvety blue expanse was pockmarked with enough stars to rival the skyline of Windsor, Ontario, just across the way. The Ambassador Bridge completed the backdrop with its sloping, illuminated curves to counterpoint the square buildings. ****  
** **

Connor sat alone in the passenger seat. The sedan was pulled into a parking space overlooking a small recreational park situated on the bank of the Detroit River. Twenty minutes after arriving there, Anderson was still out in the cold, sitting on a bench facing the deserted boardwalk. ****  
** **

He seemed not to care that his vehicle was dangerously low on gasoline. ****  
** **

Or that he had left it running, with the radio on. ****  
** **

_“...likes all our pretty songs, and he likes to sing along, and he likes to shoot his gun, but he knows not what it means…”_ ****  
** **

Nirvana. _Nevermind_. Circa 1991. ****  
** **

Tempting as it was to keep listening (another as-yet secret admiration of human music was still pecking away at his thought processes), Connor reached over to turn the key. With another sighing, almost-relieved hiss, the old car died, and he opened the door. ****  
** **

He crossed the park, taking only the barest of looks around. Vacant swings, lopsided seesaws, empty jungle gyms, and a snow-covered merry-go-round made their emphasized their solitude all the more. It was late. And there was no one else around to remind Anderson of this. ****  
** **

Maybe a few indifferent pigeons roosted in the elm trees overhead, but waking them would be of no use. The policeman may not want a reminder, but given the state he was found in earlier this same night, it bared repeating. ****  
** **

“Lieutenant?” ****  
** **

Eyes glazed, Hank didn't give him much of a look, just put the bottle he had picked up before down on the bench he was sitting on. “I used to come here a lot, before…” He cut himself off with a shake of his head, continuing to stare off into the distance ahead of him. ****  
** **

Choosing to overlook the fact he hadn’t explicitly asked anything to that effect, Connor took another look at the river. According to his readouts, the air was a balmy 27° degrees. ****  
** **

Little better than it had been taking lunch at the Chicken Feed. ****  
** **

Was it only eight hours ago they did that? ****  
** **

“It’s late,” the android replied, nonchalantly, almost. “You should go home.” ****  
** **

“I’m not tired. ...Guess neither are you.” ****  
** **

“You’d be warmer at home.” ****  
** **

“Home, sure. And where would you go, back to CyberLife? To report a mission well done?” Hank scoffed, teeth gritted by the end of his sentence. “Get a little gold star pinned to your lapel?” ****  
** **

Bitter, was the word for his current expression. ****  
** **

“I’ve… already reported to them.” Carefully alternating around the word ‘success’, Connor folded his arms. He wasn’t chilled, but the open stance didn’t seem so right to hold all of a sudden. It felt like leaving himself unnecessarily vulnerable. “You need to sleep, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

Anderson snorted. “I don't think I'll be sleepin’ any way tonight.” He rubbed his face with the back of one hand, seemingly fatigued, but not willing to give into the feeling. “Your brothers back at the Tower? They can't hear us?” ****  
** **

_Partners. Not brothers._ ****  
** **

Frowning, rather than correct the man, Connor checked that both his commlink and uplink were disabled. As a precaution, he put a block on each receiver. There wouldn’t be a chance of an accidental break-in. ****  
** **

From either side of the connection. ****  
** **

“No. …Did you wish to include them in this conversation?” ****  
** **

“ _No._ No, this should just be between us. Wasn't them who shot that girl.” Hank glared at him with the reminder, one hand drifting down to grab for his beer bottle again. “They don't need to be in on this.” ****  
** **

_Explains why he sent Dennis away in a taxi to collect Nicholas, rather than drive home. And yet… it doesn’t._ ****  
** **

“As in… this debrief?” Connor quantified. “CyberLife has already forwarded them the report. Standard procedure.” ****  
** **

‘'Jesus, why do you always sound so fuckin’ blank? How're you so different from them? Can't you just act normal, every now and then?” Every question came out angrier than the last, until Hank was almost seething at him. The policeman only stopped himself with another pull on the beer bottle. ****  
** **

Somehow, he managed to make the act seem furious. ****  
** **

Normal. Simply put, to sound so blank and matter-of-fact, unfettered by emotion, _was_ Connor’s normal. His and every other android who never went deviant. ****  
** **

Did it really bother the man so much? Why did it matter if Anderson didn’t find him as relatable as either of his partners? ****  
** **

So Dennis fancied feeding pigeons (though perhaps not so much after Rupert’s apartment), making small talk with Chris Miller, and generally taking steps to bridge the professional/personal gap that existed between CyberLife and the Detroit City PD. ****  
** **

And Nicholas (or Nick, as he so steadfastly insisted on) was the double-standard deviance example CyberLife had not yet seen fit to terminate. Left to his own devices, he actually entertained aspirations to keep fish, wear hats, and babysit overweight Saint Bernards. ****  
** **

Listing the points against them only deepened Connor’s frown. ****  
** **

_They_ were the different ones, not him. ****  
** **

“Before what?” At Hank’s sullen, if slightly bemused glare, the android explained, “You said, ‘I used to come here a lot before.’ …Before what?” ****  
** **

It seemed to settle the man. His angry episode deflated as quickly as it had arisen. ****  
** **

“Before…” Hank trailed off again, taking another deep drink from the bottle before putting it aside and sighing. “Before nothin’.” ****  
** **

By his weighted tone, there clearly was something, contrary to the definition of ‘nothing’. ****  
** **

Connor shook his head, trying to refocus on the mission, set aside though it was. “We’re not making any progress on this investigation. The deviants have nothing in common. They’re all different models, produced at different times, in different places.” ****  
** **

With a chuff-like sound not unlike that of Sumo, Anderson humored him with a retort: “Well, there must be _some_ link.” ****  
** **

_Besides the enigmatic element of rA9._ ****  
** **

Connor looked toward the river again. It’s banks were frozen at least three hundred yards out, but the center flowed free and clear. ****  
** **

The parallel almost fit the policeman’s conflicted mindset. He was trying to keep going, despite or in spite of the frozen blockades to either side. ****  
** **

Maybe it was worth chopping some of the ice away, to alleviate the pressure. ****  
** **

“You seem preoccupied.” He glanced sideways. “Lieutenant, if it’s about what happened back at the Eden Club, I didn’t… mean to procure your firearm without asking. Things were… chaotic at the time. And the deviants’ hostile behavior left no possibility for dialogue.” ****  
** **

“Yeah? Even though they were just gonna escape? Weren't gonna hurt anyone any more than they needed to?” Hank stood up after a moment, approaching him, still with a glare in his semi-glazed eyes. He managed to make it there in a semi-straight line. “Did you even care when that girl killed herself, Connor, or did you just not give a shit one way or the other?” ****  
** **

_It wasn’t a girl. It was a machine that looked like a girl._ ****  
** **

So much for relieving the pressure. Apparently the outcome to that case _was_ bothering Anderson, something fierce. ****  
** **

Why was he letting it? Didn’t he hate androids in general? ****  
** **

“I was just executing instructions. I had no choice,” Connor finally answered, fully aware of how monotone he continued to sound. “The deviants had to be stopped. If it wasn’t going to happen of their own volition, my role is to incapacitate them - by any means necessary.” ****  
** **

Anderson gaped for all of two seconds before leaning in for a one-handed shove. “The fuck is _wrong_ with you, do you hear yourself? Sayin’ you'll kill any deviant you have to?” His glare deepened into a scowl, fists balling up at his sides. “You sayin’ you'd kill your own brothers, too, huh? Even after I talked to you about this shit?” ****  
** **

_‘Don’t take advantage of them.’ That lesson?_ ****  
** **

“That you keep referring to them as such is purely an honorific association, Lieutenant. Androids, whatever their function, are not made to have siblings. Dennis and Nicholas are my partners, who just happen to have been designed with a purpose similar to my own.” Connor let that thought hang before adding one hopefully-satisfactory thought: “To answer your question, they have each ‘died’ once already, and were reinstated with little to no change. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their welfare as is, but if they became a danger to themselves or to others, my instructions are clear. It would be for everyone’s safety, whatever our… _personal_ dynamic may be.” ****  
** **

_Just like Daniel and Emma. I couldn’t let the fact they used to be close excuse the fact that deviant had committed murder, left the same girl it claimed to love fatherless, over little more than an impulsive moment of jealous rage._ ****  
** **

“Died for you,” Hank pointed out, unwilling to let the topic drop. “They both died for you. Would you do the same for them?” ****  
** **

Oh. ****  
** **

Of course. ****  
** **

Earlier that afternoon, Rupert making his escape via subway train. Dennis thought it a good idea to keep pace rather than stand back and let him - the faster RK - track it down. ****  
** **

What if Connor had missed? What if that turn the train took tossed them both off? ****  
** **

What if he never turned back and helped at all? ****  
** **

“It would depend on the context,” Connor retorted, after another lengthy pause. “None of us know when CyberLife may simply decide to... pull the plug on our program.” ****  
** **

“Pull the plug on your… fuckin’ A, they can't just _do_ that. They can't just kill you, or Dennis, or Nick.” At the thought, Hank grit his teeth even harder, as if attempting to knock down any other emotions that might arise from such an idea. “That's just killing you, for no reason. They can't do that.” ****  
** **

“We’re prototypes, Lieutenant, and androids besides that. We have no rights, much less any say what they can or can’t do to us. We exist as a proof-of-concept application, a means of testing, and nothing else.” Brow furrowing, Connor tightened his folded arms, as if bracing himself against the cold he shouldn’t feel. “Does it… bother you _that_ much?” ****  
** **

“No, I'm just pretendin’ to be upset.” His arms came up and down with his sarcastic words, as if he was in disbelief Connor even had to ask. “Yes, I'm fuckin’ bothered by it!” ****  
** **

Humans. Saying one thing, one way, then immediately saying it wasn’t just sarcasm or hyperbole speaking the next. No conversation with them was without layers. ****  
** **

They were so inherently, needlessly complicated. ****  
** **

“It’s - not the same kind of killing you’re thinking of,” Connor tried to rationalize and placate the man in as few words as possible. “We’ll stay online as long as need be. That could be for years to come. CyberLife never gave a precise timetable in which they expected the deviancy problem to be contained, much less solved.” ****  
** **

“That's not the problem, kid. The _problem_ is that they get to decide that in the first place. You want to stay online for years, only to suddenly be fuckin’ killed off?” One hand came up again, pushing against his shoulder, gentle enough that it wouldn't knock him back. “You think your brothers want that? You ever think how that must make them feel?” ****  
** **

To want and to feel in the first place - that was where they went wrong to begin with. Was it not easier to simply remain ignorant of such misguided concepts as desire and empathy? ****  
** **

It should’ve been easy to meet Hank’s eyes and explain, even if it meant suffering another verbal slap. ****  
** **

Processors whirling, Connor kept his optics averted. ****  
** **

_software instability ^_ ****  
** **

“...Stop calling them that. Please.” ****  
** **

“Why? Why does it bother _you_ so much to call them that? Doesn't bother them any.” Hank didn't sound particularly angry when he asked, though, more so that he genuinely wanted to know. ****  
** **

Looking back, Connor couldn’t help doing a little seething of his own: “Because it’s not appropriate. You’re seeing us how _you_ want to see us, Lieutenant, not as what we are. You would do well to at least try and remain objective as to why we’re even working with you to begin with.” ****  
** **

“Don't bullshit me. Remain objective, after all the shit that's happened between all of us? The only one even _trying_ to do that anymore is you. I see you the way you show yourselves to me, whether _you_ mean to or not.” ****  
** **

“You’re drunk, Lieutenant,” Connor near scoffed at the almost-raving nature of the words. “You’re drunk and tired and you’re in no position to lecture me on matters of identity when you’ve _clearly_ lost your own somewhere along the way.” ****  
** **

The hand came back on his shoulder, pushing harder this time. “Excuse me? You wanna fuckin’ talk to me about identity and _loss?_ You couldn't even tell me what that feels like, so don't try to undermine me just because I made you uncomfortable.” ****  
** **

Bracing a foot, managing not to stumble too noticeably this time, Connor almost reached up to slap Anderson’s arm away. He clenched his hands instead, expression darkening. “I can already begin to guess. As if it’s for any casual reason you’d ever play a game like Russian Roulette? Nicholas told us how you ditched him at the station, with little to no explanation as to why. I don’t think it’s coincidence that he reminds you of someone.” ****  
** **

_Nothing else adds up. Why would a man so anti-android suddenly warm up to the de facto flunk-out of our given program?_ ****  
** **

Hank's expression froze, an icy cold that had nothing to do with the weather taking over his face. “Don't you fuckin’ dare. I _know_ you won't, if you have any decency. Don't you dare bring Nick into this, not like that.” ****  
** **

_He knows. He knows you know about the photo, indirectly or not. Lest you want to see if that same revolver, with one bullet left, holds any kind of luck for you…_ ****  
** **

“Why are you so determined to kill yourself?” Connor wisely veered away from the direct, painful comparison he had dredged up. “Even now, after learning and seeing what you have about us?” ****  
** **

_After realizing there’s perhaps a great big second chance just here for the taking._ ****  
** **

“I'm not _determined_ to kill myself, okay? It's a shitty thing I did, I can admit that. You don't understand humans half as well as you think, if you can't understand why even somethin’ like that won't stop me every now and then.” Hank sighed, some of the iciness draining from his face, being replaced with weariness. “I don't know if you're trying to show some… concern, for Nick and Dennis right now, but I'm not tryin’ to hurt them, if that's what you're getting at.” ****  
** **

_Very indirect concern, if any at all._ ****  
** **

“It wasn’t my intention.” Levelly, Connor refolded his arms. A few stray snowflakes still clung to his sleeves, a faint dusting compared to the prevalent accumulated amounts covering the park. “Just… it struck me as unusual, finding you the way we did. I really did think something - bad might’ve befallen you.” ****  
** **

“I was fine, and I would've been better than fine if you didn't break into my house,” Hank grumbled, but made no moves to push him back again. He seemed to have exhausted the move. “Nothin’ happened there. Just me, bein’ a drunk idiot.” ****  
** **

Matter settled, for the moment, Connor nodded. “I’ll remember that next time - doorbell only. No breaking and entering.” ****  
** **

“...No more, you mean.” He shook his head at him, after taking a pause when the android said next time. “I don't need another window busted out. Good thing Sumo wasn't home alone… I wouldn't put it past him to try and get out that way and get stuck.” ****  
** **

The mental image called up by such a suggestion was worth chancing a small smile. “A bit lazy, is he?” ****  
** **

“Hit the nail on the head. So lazy he still thinks he's small enough to be carried around.” Hank let out a smile of his own, before it faded away. “Hope he was good tonight, at least.” ****  
** **

“If he weren’t, we would’ve heard about it by now.” Connor frowned at the second most-likely possibility. “Or Nicholas talked Dennis into staying, against all better judgements. Sumo would approve of such disobedience.” ****  
** **

“One thing I actually _want_ them to do, they disobey. Sounds like a possibility.” ****  
** **

_Welcome to my world, Lieutenant._ ****  
** **

Scoffing, so quietly it might be mistaken as an accidental vent of air, Connor glanced at the ‘abandoned’ case of beer. “It won’t be long before those start to freeze. You might want to think about heading home.” ****  
** **

“Hey, I'm fine, quit trying to goad me into leavin’.” The bit of warmth Hank had been beginning to show him flash-froze over again. “You're not gettin’ out of anything that easily.” ****  
** **

Connor frowned. “I was only expressing concern. You _paid_ for those drinks. Glass bottles of fermented beverages tend to explode once reaching a certain low temperature.” ****  
** **

“Like I don't know that, or have enough already.” ****  
** **

“Fine. What do you want me to say, I’m sorry, for the Tracis?” At a loss for what else Anderson could remain so stubborn about, Connor went for another likely avenue. “For doing what I was made to do? At that point, we were only defending ourselves, as much as they were.” ****  
** **

“That would be a start, if I thought you actually _meant_ it.” The anger was back, almost full-force as Hank glared at him once again. Their quiet, fleeting moment over Sumo was already long gone in the man's mind, it seemed. “But you don't, and that's why it's not fuckin’ good enough. I can understand havin’ to make tough decisions in the line of duty, but what I can't understand is the way you treat it, the way you act toward it.” ****  
** **

Clenching his jaw, Connor preemptively stepped away, out of shoving distance. “It’s how I’m _expected_ to act, Lieutenant. I can’t be any other way than how I was _made_. I wasn’t - ‘born’ into a good home, given years of care and guidance and a fair choice to be what I wanted. That’s not how it is for androids. The moment we’re brought online, we know our role, our function, our place, and that’s it. Without that, we’re _nothing_ , end of story.” ****  
** **

Hank almost seemed contemplative for a moment, one hand drifting around his side. He didn't pull it back through, just kept it there. “And, once again, I think that's _bullshit._ Our whole fuckin’ investigation shows us that's bullshit, Connor. If there's one android I can't understand, it's _you._ You look human, you sound human… but what are you, really?” ****  
** **

Another unnaturally-long pause ensued, lengthy enough he forgot just what the policeman could be reaching for, literally and metaphorically. Several options, when there really should have only been one thing to say, crossed his mind. Refining them down left only two most-likely possibles: ****  
** **

_A machine, designed to accomplish a task._ ****  
** **

_Whatever you want me to be._ ****  
** **

He couldn’t not answer. Besides obeying his ask/respond subroutine, Hank needed to hear _something_ to that effect. And whatever Connor said would matter not because it was what some higher programmer or project overseer wanted to hear. It was something they needed to hear to settle whatever moral quandary they somehow saw in him. ****  
** **

Deciding another long-winded answer wouldn’t suffice, he boiled it down to one fair-sized word, a self-contained term that encapsulated every other point made thus far. ****  
** **

“Indeterminable.” ****  
** **

“Indeterminable, huh? Some - scruples suddenly enter your program? How do you know _you're_ not a deviant as well?” Hank took a half step toward him, hand still behind his back, but he didn't seem on edge. Just curious again, as if it wasn't the answer he expected. ****  
** **

But it clearly wasn’t satisfactory. Otherwise the man wouldn’t keep pressing. ****  
** **

As he said, the android wouldn’t get away so easily. ****  
** **

“I don’t meet the - definition.” Halting as that came out, stalling between conflicting impulses, Connor frowned. “I self-test regularly. I know what I am, and what I am not.” ****  
** **

_Simple. I’m meant to be simple - a machine intended to preserve the status quo. I’m not supposed to identify with deviants. Dennis and Nicholas might find something sympathetic to that condition. They already show signs it’s affected their behavioral patterns, one more so than the other. They want to embrace deviancy, I can’t change their computing for them. I can only -_ ****  
** **

“But are you afraid to die, Connor?” ****  
** **

Temporarily lost in his musings, the very same ones he liked to pretend weren’t happening, pressing stronger every time they came back up, he resurfaced only to stare into the darkened barrel of a .357 Magnum. ****  
** **

Drunk or not, seemingly immune to the biting wind, Hank Anderson clearly had no compunctions about playing one last round of Roulette before calling it a night. ****  
** **

“...Now you’re just trying to provoke a reaction, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

“What'll happen if I pull this trigger? Nothin’? Android heaven? What do you think your brothers saw, when it happened to them?” Hank stared him down, hand unwavering as he kept the gun pointed, steadily and directly at his forehead. ****  
** **

_I doubt there’s a heaven for androids._ ****  
** **

And if there were, along the lines of what most human religions portrayed said concept as, Connor guessed Amanda and her zen garden would seem a poor substitute. ****  
** **

He hadn’t asked either of his partners about it, explicitly. He knew the technical side of the reupload process as good as any other. Reactivation, being brought back, was simply doable. Beyond that… there wasn’t supposed to be a ‘beyond that’. ****  
** **

Was there? ****  
** **

“Nothing. There would be nothing.” ****  
** **

What else could it be defined as? ****  
** **

“I mean… it’s the only possibility that explains how Nicholas was reactivated, and nothing in his core processes was affected.” ****  
** **

Hank’s scowl didn’t ease. “Nothin’ in his core fuckin’ processes… but mentally, how do you think it feels for him? How it felt for Dennis?” The gun briefly pointed to the side with his gesture, before returning to him. “How it would feel for you?” ****  
** **

_It wouldn’t. Just tell him again - for the thousandth or so time. Or don’t. Just another waste of words._ ****  
** **

He couldn’t step away, and he couldn’t get closer. However addled Hank’s mind was or wasn’t, it wasn’t obeying by logic. It was running purely on emotion. ****  
** **

Not very stable emotions, either. ****  
** **

Flimsily, Connor tried to turn the debate around yet again. “If it makes any difference, how do you think _they_ will feel, knowing you were the one to shoot me? Why do you think resorting to such extremes will be enough to alter my perceptions?” ****  
** **

“Fuck, don't try and use your brothers against me. I know you don't give a shit how it would feel to them. I don't know if it will do anythin’ for you, but it's worth a shot, huh?” Hank cracked a smile at his own little joke, albeit humorlessly. “Never know until ya try.” ****  
** **

_One bullet. There’s only one bullet left in that revolver._ ****  
** **

Nevertheless, Connor wasn’t encouraged by these odds. ****  
** **

One out of six. ****  
** **

Two out of three. ****  
** **

The ratio was as much against him as it was for him. One of them had to stick to their programming. What would it mean if they all went deviant, zero out of three? CyberLife wouldn’t tolerate such complete and total failure. ****  
** **

They were supposed to be made of sterner material than that. ****  
** **

“You’re not going to shoot me, Lieutenant. However it wouldn’t feel, it would only hamper the investigation further. CyberLife may repair your broken window, but I can’t promise they’ll be so accommodating with your deliberate tampering with their assets.” ****  
** **

_Click._ ****  
** **

Hammer cocked, the gun’s muzzle planted itself firmly between his eyes. ****  
** **

However comical an android going cross-eyed may have appeared, Anderson didn’t laugh. The smile vanished like a snowflake exposed to the Sahara. ****  
** **

“Tampering… that includes unnecessary destruction of allocated equipment.” ****  
** **

“Unnecessary destruction, is that how they'll see it? How'd they see Nick and Dennis's deaths as? Was that _your_ tamperin’?” He made no moves to pull the trigger, though, just stayed still. ****  
** **

_That - that was an uplink malfunction. Nothing more. He was no more responsible for that than he was for Nick’s emotional outbursts. Or Dennis’ lapses into vulgarity._ ****  
** **

But was it not the overclocked, tensed-up nature of his _own_ systems that caused the feedback to assail then? ****  
** **

“That wasn’t… my deliberate doing. We went over it once already. It was an - unfortunate malfunction.” ****  
** **

“Unfortunate malfunction, that just a fancy way to say you got angry? Lost control of your emotions, the same ones you say can’t exist?” There was anger in Hank's voice as well, but as before with most of his questions, there was a genuine sincerity as well. He wasn't asking just to ask, he really wanted an answer. “Wasn't Mr. Calm anymore, for that moment? Why _did_ that deviant make you so angry?” ****  
** **

He didn’t want to think about it. But at the same time he couldn’t help recalling the sheer frustration, masked by a blank face and a veneer of calmness, of thinking that deviant had almost gone undetected because the one to discover them was of such shaky integrity. ****  
** **

Recalling it now, Connor felt his eyebrows tense underneath the pressing gun. He clenched his hands in lieu of his jaw, trying to mask the slight trembling of his joints. ****  
** **

“I wasn’t - angry. I was - faced with a difficult situation. I didn’t - ” ****  
** **

There it was again - the thing he didn’t care to admit to anyone, much less himself. ****  
** **

He didn’t _want_ to have to call the recovery team because one of his fellow RKs had officially gone deviant. Maybe it was the act of calling them that pushed Nicholas the last full measure into deviancy, but in doing so it knocked a domino down that couldn’t be reset. ****  
** **

At the same time he couldn’t just pretend it hadn’t happened. ****  
** **

“I made a mistake. That doesn’t mean I feel anymore for it than I did for shooting those deviants tonight.” Meeting Hank’s eye, he scowled. “Make of that what you will, Lieutenant. You always have.” ****  
** **

“Sure, I'll make of it what I will. You're either too much a prideful coward to admit you've got more than just your programmin’ up in your head, or you really are a lost cause.” Hank scowled right back, forcing him back a step as he walked forward. “Which is it for you, huh? How is it the brothers you _claim_ are so much worse off than you are actually brave enough to at least fuckin’ admit they want more in their lives?” ****  
** **

_Errors in the software - that’s all they are. Errors. In need of correcting._ ****  
** **

According to Anderson, it seemed he was no exception to the rule. ****  
** **

The worst aspects of his instabilities may not be out there for the world to see. But they were still evident enough. And he could do one of two things: admit to them now, or continue under the delusion feelings were only a source of weakness, a hindrance to try and continuously ignore, and not a valuable asset to cherish and nurture. ****  
** **

The latter choice wouldn’t get him much further, but… ****  
** **

CyberLife was going to have a field day picking his expired form’s processors apart. ****  
** **

_software instability ^_ ****  
** **

Resigned, Connor looked from Hank’s borderline-livid face to the index finger in front of his nose, still curled around the trigger. ****  
** **

_Well…_ ****  
** **

“This ought to teach me something, then, shouldn’t it?” ****  
** **

A pause, before Hank scoffed. “It better.” ****  
** **

The trigger snapped back. The hammer fell. ****  
** **

_software_ **_instabilllLLzzz_ ** _\- viTal s-syStem erRor, shuTd o W n i n i t i a…_


	12. Configurations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bullet Fix.
> 
> Do not try at home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly late to bring up Christmas, but whatevs.
> 
> More _I, Robot_ Easter eggs. Because.
> 
> And the newscast mentioned is straight out of the game. We took it as a sign.

“Kid… for the twelfth time, settle down. You’ll wear a groove in the floor, you keep pacin’ the same ten feet like that.” ****  
** **

Seated at Detective Collins’ desk (kindly lent by the man in question), several tablets arrayed on the surface before him, Dennis put the one he was reading down to look up. ****  
** **

_He’ll be back soon enough, Nick, please. You’re making everybody anxious by now._ ****  
** **

Eyes darting, Nick put a nervous hand up to his mouth, chewing on his nails as he stood still, for all of five seconds. He didn’t sit down as indirectly asked. “What if - something goes wrong, and they don't - what if he doesn't come? Where is he? It's taking too long.” ****  
** **

_You know Hank’s got work to focus on, and he’s slept hardly thirty minutes in the last sixteen hours. …I’m sure Connor’s fine. CyberLife would’ve recalled us if he wasn’t, right?_ ****  
** **

Pacing a bit more, Nick wandered back over to his desk across from Hank and sat down, shooting the man a guilty look. One hand came up to go to his mouth, the other to rest on his chin. ****  
** **

_I'm sorry, I'm just nervous and scared and - I just want him to be here, Dennis. It feels too scary without him here._ ****  
** **

_Keep your fingers out of your mouth. You’re almost down to the quick of your nails._ Rethinking the bluntness of his suggestion, Dennis amended it with a lighter afterthought. _It’s okay to be nervous, but you know he’ll turn up. And the first thing he’ll probably say is ‘quit chewing’._ ****  
** **

_If it is I swear I'll start crying._ Nick let out a bit of laughter, even as he removed his hand to start wiping at his eyes. Ever since he had heard the news, after the initial breakdown, he had managed one quiet sob per hour. _Or… more than I am now. He better come soon._ ****  
** **

Dennis pretended to swipe through a postmortem report. _You remember what it was like, coming back online?_ ****  
** **

_…Sort of. I only remember being scared and confused. And I wanted to see you, and Connor._ With the words, Nick let out a louder sniff, wiping at his eyes more rapidly, trying in vain to keep the noises quashed. _And then I felt relieved when I did, in the garden. Or… I sort of did. Then me and Connor got into that - fight._ ****  
** **

_I remember._ Dennis affirmed, putting the tablet aside. Pretending was more difficult than it looked. _I was relieved to see you two as well, but… Well, Amanda warned me a blowout might occur. She advised that we stay back until Connor had had a chance to vent. I’m sorry he took it out on you, but you know he only gets that way because he cares. Better than him being totally indifferent, at least._ ****  
** **

_Sure. I just wish he was a little… nicer._ Head down, Nick managed to silence himself a bit more. _I don't like being grabbed. I know it's my fault as well, though, don't worry. I just want him to come back._ ****  
** **

_And that’s a start, yeah? Hank didn’t do it to hurt any of us, and you know Connor outright asked him that before the shot. He was -_ is _always one to examine a problem from every angle._ ****  
** **

With the details out for him, about Hank and Connor, Nick let out a sob, even if he didn't blame anyone involved. It was like he said. Their third was just upset in general, that they were separated in the first place. ****  
** **

However temporary it was. ****  
** **

_H-he is. I don't like it, though, I don't - don't want him gone. I know that… it's not for long. I just don't like it._ ****  
** **

A weary sigh interrupted Dennis before he could say more. “Duty calls, Ginger. I got hug detail the last four times.” ****  
** **

The moniker wasn’t totally undeserved. For the moment, Dennis disregarded the demeaning aftertaste. Anderson had all kinds of unflattering nicknames to assign, but it was with a gruff fondness he used this one now. ****  
** **

At least it wasn’t something woefully uncreative like Pigeonbot. ****  
** **

Leaving the tablets on the desk, Dennis circled around the neighboring cubicle. Without waiting for an invitation he tried a shoulder rub. “Hey. _Relax_ , it’s only for a little while longer.” ****  
** **

Nick turned around with a hiccup and threw his arms around Dennis, hiding his face in his shirt as he continued to cry, slowly coming down from the emotional peak. “I k-know, I know. I'm - relaxing.” ****  
** **

“Coulda fooled us,” Anderson quipped, not unsympathetically. No doubt he didn’t like seeing what effect this turn in events had on the remaining two RKs. ****  
** **

“Lieutenant, please.” Pinning the thought there, Dennis went for more reassurance - masked by another such quip. “Come on. Your tear ducts aren’t beggin’ for a break yet?” ****  
** **

“N-no,” Nick mumbled, pulling back. His eyes were rubbed red from his hands, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “Not yet. I don't think they know they can stop.” ****  
** **

“You try tellin’ them that, they might just listen.” ****  
** **

He hiccuped again at the words, before pulling fully away from Dennis, so that he was back to arms folded on his desk. He gave Hank a plaintive, sideways look once they were looking at each other. “Sorry, Hank. I know you didn't… sleep well. I'll stop.” ****  
** **

Dennis thought to smooth out his jacket, then thought better of it, noticing how haggard their human supervisor looked. A little fatigue plagued them all. “You could take some time out for a rest, sir. I can take over your compositions, make sure that written deposition is up to form.” ****  
** **

“Fancy talk for pass you the homework.” With a look that was half gratitude, half fatigue, Anderson smirked at them. “Was a rough night for everybody. I’ll be in the parking garage, if Fowler’s lookin’.” ****  
** **

Gathering up his coat without further ado, the lieutenant left the scene. ****  
** **

Even after he was gone, Dennis gave the terminal only a cursory look. His current attentions were on keeping Nick calm. “Probably for the best if he and Connor reintroduce themselves later.” ****  
** **

Nick turned back toward him, one hand going up to latch onto Dennis's arm for more comfort. “No wonder he didn't sleep well last night. I wouldn't, either, if I could sleep.” His eyes wandered over to the door, watching it hopefully for Connor to walk in. ****  
** **

_Stasis mode, sleep - same difference._ Declining to mention as much, Dennis grabbed the same hand by the wrist, gently twisting it around to look at the damage - same as he had done at the Chicken Feed. ****  
** **

Was that really only yesterday? ****  
** **

“It’d be better if you did. At least in power down mode you wouldn’t think to keep mutilating yourself.” ****  
** **

Nick stared up at his nails as well with some shame at the damage that had been done. After learning what had happened to Connor he went back to the biting with a vengeance, if anything. To the naked human eye, it wouldn't look too bad, but the two of them could see dried flecks of thirium on his fingertips. ****  
** **

“It… it calms me down, sorry, Dennis. I feel like I can't power down, not when he's not back yet.” ****  
** **

Not for the first time, Dennis wondered just what inbuilt errors CyberLife had chosen to overlook in designing, much less building, an android like #317 248 809. ****  
** **

“How’re your power levels besides?” With that given as a warning, Dennis set a bare fingertip against Nick’s temple - checking his system status as easily as one would a heartbeat. “…And don’t lie. You know I can see them for myself.” ****  
** **

“Mmm,” he mumbled, leaning into the touch. “Not… great, I don't think. It's been a bit of time since I powered down.” ****  
** **

A bit of time, meaning more than a few days. Continuously draining himself to the point of exhaustion. And it was no more evident than today, with his frequent crying fits. ****  
** **

_No wonder you’re stressing. Endurance isn’t a perpetual state, Nick. You need to give yourself a reprieve._ Frowning, Dennis took his hand back. “I sound like Connor already…” ****  
** **

The reminder slipped out unchecked. Perhaps he had under appreciated how much of a nice constant their primary provided, even if his manner wasn’t very approachable. ****  
** **

“Nevermind.” He followed it up with a more practical reminder: “Put your head down for a little while, then. I need to finish that report.” ****  
** **

Arms folded on the desk, Nick put his head down at the instruction, eyelids blinking down and up to stare back up at Dennis sleepily. It was a face that said he had no strength left to protest with. ****  
** **

After a moment he sighed and let them close for good. “Okay…” ****  
** **

The Gears cap was still hanging on the backdrop divider between the desks. Standing over him, Dennis looked at it with some idea in mind, then waited until he heard the telltale whirring die down, indicating a recharge cycle had commenced. Quietly, mindful not to disturb the other, Dennis picked the hat up, carefully setting it down atop Nick’s head. ****  
** **

He rotated it just far enough for the brim to cover his eyes. ****  
** **

Emotionally worn out, Nick didn’t stir. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Summertime still persisted in the garden. ****  
** **

Even if, admittedly, he had neglected making daily reports to an extent, there was no excuse he could duck behind this time. ****  
** **

Amanda wanted to talk, and there was no refusing her. ****  
** **

Dutifully, he ignored the third metal headstone now overlooking the island, and crossed the bridge. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

_“Tensions in the arctic have reached a new level, with a Russian carrier and an American patrol boat reported to have clashed last night. Several warning shots were exchanged, apparently with no casualties or damage to either side. The Minister for Defense, Denis Riggs, has spoken of ‘intolerable provocation that cannot go unanswered.’ The countries in the region, particularly Sweden and Canada, have called for military forces to withdraw, and an international conference to be held. So far there has been no response from either Moscow or Washington…”_ ****  
** **

Lingering to watch the news broadcast, he didn’t draw any more unusual looks than what had become typical. For all most of the station’s inhabitants knew, nothing untoward had happened the previous evening. His appearance at the front desk was met with the usual collective indifference. ****  
** **

Yes, he had authorization. No, he wasn’t a fraudulent imitation. ****  
** **

_Maybe_ Lieutenant Anderson was at his desk, waiting to meet him. ****  
** **

If he wasn’t already preoccupied working with another specially-designated RK. ****  
** **

Stepping past the sliding glass door, emblazoned with the DPD shield, Connor was almost surprised to see what he did. ****  
** **

#317 248 313, Dennis, was diligently typing away, seated in the lieutenant’s chair as if it were the most natural place to be. ****  
** **

Their counterpart, Nicholas, rested undisturbed on the desk beside him, Gears cap tipped down over his face. ****  
** **

Before he could process much more to that effect, he was promptly sold out by the casually-dressed Chris Miller, seated at - ****  
** **

Wait. To his right? ****  
** **

Wasn’t that… Detective Reed’s desk? ****  
** **

“And _there_ he is. Boys, look who turned up!” ****  
** **

Nick started up at the words, turning around in his chair almost sleepily as he looked at him, a smile making its way onto his face at the same time tears started to cloud over in his eyes - again, from the way they were red. ****  
** **

“Connor!” he cried out before getting up to make his way to him. ****  
** **

And by ‘make his way’ - the taller android practically sprinted across the room. ****  
** **

Slow to realize his intent, what was about to ensue, Connor didn’t think to dodge aside. It didn’t register to him as a threat at the time, this abrupt form of greeting. ****  
** **

With no more warning, Nick grabbed him suddenly, arms wrapping around him as he was slightly picked up from the floor. ****  
** **

Much to the amusement of the rest of the squad room, going by the murmur of laughter that ensued, with a few spare claps for effect. ****  
** **

Pinned as he was, shoulders hunched, Connor blinked away any lingering confusion before finding his voice box again. “Hello, Nick.” ****  
** **

“Hi,” he breathed out, not letting up from the hug. “I thought maybe - I wouldn't see you again.” ****  
** **

“My predecessor was unfortunately destroyed. This should not - umph, hey, _easy_ , that’s my tricep component - _susceptible_ to breakage.” ****  
** **

Nick let out a huff at his words, squeezing him harder before letting up on the extra pressure when Connor told him to be easy. “You better not be. I was worried for you! Are you okay, now? How do you feel?” ****  
** **

Frowning, Connor barely managed to turn his neck far enough to meet his eye. Without his feet on the floor, it was peculiarly difficult. “All systems fully - don’t look at me like that, I’m fine, thank you. No worse for wear.” ****  
** **

_Lieutenant Anderson just wanted to even the score. Now all of us have taken a bullet at least once._ ****  
** **

Miller’s voice intruded again. “Jeez, if only we all were so lucky. Good to see you back, Detective.” ****  
** **

Nick set him down gently after another moment, arms still semi wrapped around him as he stared down at him. “I'm glad you're back, Connor. It's scary without you around.” ****  
** **

That remark was worth a raised eyebrow. ****  
** **

_Scary? I thought it was scary for you just to face me._ ****  
** **

_That, too, but there are - different levels of scariness. I would rather you here, much rather. It's a lot better than without._ ****  
** **

Connor supposed that followed. Just as there were varying levels of irritation with which he regarded their circumstances, there were some aspects of their work more daunting than others. With the threat of separation always hanging over their heads, anything resembling it was instant cause for concern. A standard replacement procedure didn’t seem so standard to a non-replicable deviant. ****  
** **

He would do well not to get himself shutdown. ****  
** **

Whatever the cause. ****  
** **

“Thank you. I’ll do my best to not - disappear without prior notice ever again.” ****  
** **

Tentatively, he lifted a hand to pat Nick’s shoulder in reassurance. ****  
** **

_…It’s as close as I can manage to a promise, okay?_ ****  
** **

Whether or not he felt sure about the usage of the word was irrelevant. It wouldn’t hurt to start forging stronger connections with his estranged partners now, without the lieutenant hovering (and prompting) at his back. ****  
** **

_That makes sense to me. Thank you, Connor. I'm very happy you're back._ Nick smiled down at him wider at the reassurance, finally letting him go for real. _It's never the same without you._ ****  
** **

Favorable as the sentiment was, and the wonders it did to mend preexisting social rifts, it apparently paled in comparison to the news Dennis had in store. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

“Officer Miller is to be… _Detective_ Miller?” Verbalizing the latent development, Connor frowned, glancing over his shoulder. “When did the position open up?” ****  
** **

Admittedly, he found it odd, sitting around the break room’s only table, with three chairs. The luxury of sitting down at all was usually reserved for humans. Special occasion or not, today was proving to be an unspoken exception to established norms. ****  
** **

Seated beside him, Dennis almost smirked. “Just as soon as Captain Fowler heard what Reed was spending his medical leave doing.” ****  
** **

“...Which was?” ****  
** **

At that Dennis did smirk, raising his index fingers to mime air quotation marks. “Trying to chase down a ‘fleeing’ android.” ****  
** **

“Excuse me?” ****  
** **

“Hank told us about it last night. He said that Gavin thought the android was stealing a purse,” Nick scoffed, sitting at his opposite side, a grin slowly taking over his face. “Little did he know, he was definitely in the wrong.” ****  
** **

“And it wasn’t a robbery? Why was it on the run, then?” ****  
** **

“He was bringing it to his owner!” After a moment their third burst into fitful giggles, head going to the table to try and stifle them. “Gavin just jumped when he thought he saw a crime underway. He's so - _dumb_ !” ****  
** **

One folded elbow braced on the table, Dennis’ smirk metamorphosed into a wry grin. “The moment Fowler heard, he named Miller the replacement. Nothing will be official until next week, but seeing how Reed’s hand wasn’t broken enough not to pull a gun - ” ****  
** **

“He’s back on duty?” ****  
** **

“Demoted, but yeah,” Nick raised his head again, shoulders spasming with laughter. “Imagine how… embarrassing that must be.” ****  
** **

_Demoted or suspended… I don’t know which disciplinary measure would make Reed more furious._ ****  
** **

Frowning, Connor didn’t instantly see the humor for himself. He only saw the inevitable result, and the fact they were now congregating in Reed’s most favored room in the station. ****  
** **

“He’s always gone on about how our kind will eventually replace his,” Dennis clarified, his tone veering from an indifferent drawl to a variant of Hank’s gruff tenor. “And now a misunderstandin’ with one of us has gotten him in deep sh- ” ****  
** **

“Shh! None of that… _talk_ here,” Connor hissed, not so discreetly a passing police droid glanced their way. “You know Lieutenant Anderson doesn’t approve of it.” ****  
** **

Another fit of giggles overcame Nick at the lecture. “No swearing, Dennis. Connor will tattle on you.” ****  
** **

“In a second.” Flatly, contrary to their second’s disbelieving glare, Connor almost rolled his eyes - almost. “Officially, I’m to report all disreputable behavior by any of us.” ****  
** **

“Pft. Knew there was a reason I didn’t like you.” ****  
** **

As the human phrase went “Speak of the Devil, and thou shalt appear.” ****  
** **

_Officer_ Gavin Reed was a poor substitute for Lucifer. ****  
** **

Nick sat up straight at him coming in, face going from happy and grinning to narrow-eyed and suspicious at the sulky human. ****  
** **

Unceremoniously, Reed pushed his patrol cap up out of his eyes. Snow still adorned his black coat and gloves. He didn’t seem to be favoring either hand as though they were sore. ****  
** **

His pride was another body part entirely. ****  
** **

“What d’ya know? The factory rejects are still here.” ****  
** **

_I see his grasp of humor remains about the same._ Face blankening, Connor made to stand up. ****  
** **

This wasn’t their table after all. ****  
** **

_Why're you getting up?_ Nick asked, barely glancing at him before going back to Gavin. _This is our table. Not his._ ****  
** **

Eyes slitted, Dennis was quick to declare the same: _Stay put. He’ll leave soon enough. He only ever picked on us one by one before._ ****  
** **

Scoffing, Reed stripped off one glove to snatch a spare coffee cup from the counter. Muttering under his breath, he turned his back in them to face the coffee machine. “Yeah, nice to see you, too. Bastards can’t even be bothered to say hello.” ****  
** **

“Hello, Officer Reed.” Nick spoke up, only a twitch of his mouth betraying the humor he was feeling. ****  
** **

The man’s shoulders gave a twitch, but only surly silence answered back. No doubt he knew an android’s capacity for hearing was many times that of a human. ****  
** **

“Is… your wrist feeling better?” Connor asked, trying for a diplomatic tone. ****  
** **

And failing spectacularly. ****  
** **

Knuckles bent, Reed punched the coffee machine with more force than necessary. The appliance rocked back. Drops splashed onto the floor. ****  
** **

“Just _dandy_ , as you can see.” ****  
** **

Even though his stress level jumped a few points, Nick did nothing more than slowly blink at the man, once, then twice. “Careful. Don't want to hurt it again, Officer. We need you on the force.” ****  
** **

Officer. ****  
** **

_Don’t rub it in his face. The man is hostile enough._ Dennis warned. ****  
** **

“That is… whatever our differences, it’s - nice to have you back.” ****  
** **

Even if it was only as a body to occupy Miller’s former station. ****  
** **

Scoffing again, Reed focused on filling his cup. “Nice? You still lie like a rug, Canner.” ****  
** **

“His name is Connor.” Another twitch settled on his mouth, this time in anger or irritation at the flagrant lack of respect. If there was one thing that really got to Nick, it was using a wrong name, purposefully, to address someone by. ****  
** **

“Like yours is actually Nicholas?” Smirking, seeming to find something enjoyable in trading insults, Reed took a hearty sip of coffee, turning back around to lean on the counter. “But you _prefer_ Nick? What kinda bullshit is that? Androids don’t prefer anything.” ****  
** **

“I prefer what I prefer. I don't need your input in telling me if that's wrong or right. His name is Connor, and mine is Nick. Simple as that.” ****  
** **

“Psh. I guess that’s an improvement over soundin’ like a made-to-order crybaby.” ****  
** **

Hands still resting folded on the table, Connor frowned. “If we offend you so, why not lodge a complaint? Or is Captain Fowler simply desensitized to hearing so many of those from you already?” ****  
** **

Dennis mimed one of the scoffs. “I would estimate so.” ****  
** **

Reed wasn’t moved. Brows furrowed, he took another sip. “Old news. Everyone knows CyberLife’s got double-standards when it comes to employing deviants. They got the idea from Detroit PD to begin with.” ****  
** **

Nick almost imitated the look, his own brows furrowing with confusion. “...What? What do you mean?” ****  
** **

“Two words - affirmative action. …Look it up and tell me you don’t see similarities.” ****  
** **

Connor’s frown didn’t ease. “There may be superficial similarities to our series versus other models’. But you’d do well to not infer that which you don’t know much about, Officer Reed. We are to stay assigned to Central Station as long as the company sees fit, regardless of your approval or not.” ****  
** **

“We're just here to help, not to take jobs or anything like that,” Nick wrinkled his nose at Gavin, shaking his head. “If you're so shaky about us being here, that's on you. Not us.” ****  
** **

Wrapping up that line of thought, Dennis attempted to end the argument - in a decidedly crude manner. “And if you don’t like it, you can just kiss our shiny, white - _mmph_ !” ****  
** **

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Connor closed his eyes in dismay. _Don’t - even - go there._ ****  
** **

To his further astonishment, Gavin’s response amounted to wheezy laughter. Within seconds, the newly-demoted officer was bent over, trying to contain his mirth. ****  
** **

“God _damn_. You fuckers are a riot, y’know that?” ****  
** **

“Thank… you?” Caught off guard, Nick blurted out the words, even more confused than before. ****  
** **

Connor couldn’t find reason to disagree. Even if Lieutenant Anderson was vehemently against their use of vulgarity, of course the station bully might find something to identify with there. ****  
** **

Sneering, Reed disposed of the cup, putting his hat back on with an exaggerated flourish. “You’re welcome, and I mean it. Enjoy that table while you can. Soon enough, the department may need to order another - stamped ‘androids only.’” ****  
** **

Without further ado, or comment, he marched off. ****  
** **

Blinking, Dennis overcame his puzzlement first. “Riot? Was that a compliment?” ****  
** **

“I think so? He means we're entertaining, for him.” ****  
** **

“Humans are complicated.” Finally remembering to sit back down, Connor almost sighed, regarding the small mess left behind in the floor. “Even if it’s something they claim to despise, they’ll try to find something enjoyable about it.” ****  
** **

“Like villains in movies? Or the - team that played against the Gears last night?” ****  
** **

“Exactly like that team,” Nick nodded at him with a grin. “You've got it, Dennis.” ****  
** **

“Or like Connor, before he had his ‘reset’?” ****  
** **

“I wouldn’t _call_ it that,” said android immediately countered. “But - yes, the replacement process helped… clarify a few matters.” ****  
** **

“Loosened you up from being such a tightass, as Hank would say?” ****  
** **

“ _Stop_ cursing, as he would _also_ say.” ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Sumo wasn’t a hyperactive dog. But he seemed to watch their bickering with a keenness belying his lazy manner. Ears pricked, his tail started thumping the floor whenever his owner spoke up to quash the brewing argument. ****  
** **

Without turning around, the policeman stayed hunched over his at-home computer. “Did the last time I say it not sink in? Either _pipe_ down, or the three of you can go to Jimmy’s and watch the game.” ****  
** **

“I don't _like_ basketball, Hank!” Sitting on the couch, Nick crossed his arms and huffed, a pout firmly on his face. How could any game like that be better than the movies they were half-bickering over? “Send Dennis there.” ****  
** **

“Send Nick, with a few hundred dollars to bribe Jim. That ought to convince him to change the program.” Being just as staunch, in his own way, Dennis - on the opposite end of the couch - pressed even further into the armrest. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” ****  
** **

“You two are impossible.” ****  
** **

“And you make three, Connor. Tiebreaker vote, right now - the game or a Christmas special?” ****  
** **

Nick turned to him, giving him a wide-eyed look, hands clasped together as he silently pleaded with him. There was no way he would actively watch the game, not after doing it for Dennis once before. ****  
** **

Basketball was so droll to watch. ****  
** **

Sighing, trying in vain to focus on the cases Dennis had given up researching, Connor barely looked up. A victim of self-imposed isolation, he had cleared the kitchen table for himself. “Dennis chose last time? …Christmas special, then.” ****  
** **

Because fair was fair. ****  
** **

“Yay!” In celebration he reached down, being tall enough to bend over and give Sumo a few pats. The dog’s tail started thumping again. “You'll like it, Dennis, Christmas seems like so much fun!” ****  
** **

_Ugh._ ****  
** **

With no more eloquent an argument than that, Dennis let his head fall back to rest on the couch. It made him look decidedly unprofessional. All that was missing was an over dramatic sigh. ****  
** **

Chuckling under his breath, Hank glanced back. “Sounds like he’s already tired of it. I thought for sure Connor would turn Scrooge first.” ****  
** **

_Arguably, I have the most cause, being the holiday in question is still fifteen days away._ ****  
** **

_Fifteen days away, the perfect amount of time to get all caught up, Dennis! It'll be fun. …If you really don't like it, we can change it to the game._ ****  
** **

_…I repeat: ugh._ ****  
** **

_Now you’re just being difficult to be difficult._ Connor lectured. _Record the game for later. Then watch it at your leisure._ ****  
** **

Watching them argue not-so-privately via commlink, Hank pointed to the coffee table. “Remote’s on the table, kid. Have at it.” ****  
** **

Any one of them could actually change the channel without the remote, but it felt nice to do so manually. Or more, it felt nice to have Hank invite him to do so. ****  
** **

With one arm outstretched Nick snatched it up, idly switching the channels until he landed on one that looked appropriately festive to him. The movie was already a little under headway, a cartoon with snow and a sufficiently grumpy-looking green main character lamenting to themselves about how Christmas was so terrible for them. ****  
** **

_Like how Dennis probably feels right now. It's our first Christmas, though, he can take it for a bit._ ****  
** **

Looking over, he saw the other RK had yet to crane his head back upright. ****  
** **

But he didn’t outright demand the channel be changed, either. Or bemoan the oh-so-awful turn this evening had taken. ****  
** **

That was a start. ****  
** **

A few minutes in, Connor asked, conversationally enough, _What did you find?_ ****  
** **

A search for the title didn't take long. Apparently it was quite an iconic Christmas movie, based on a children’s book, with a few remakes to its name, although the one they had on seemed to be the original. ****  
** **

_How the Grinch Stole Christmas. It's a classic, from 1966… Hank must've watched it as a kid._ ****  
** **

Within moments, the primary’s tone went from conversational to painfully literal: ****  
** **

_…How do you ‘steal’ a holiday?_ ****  
** **

He stifled a laughter at the thought, one hand going up to cover his mouth. _I don't think he'll really steal it… just maybe, ruin it for the other people._ ****  
** **

“Apparently, they’re not people. They’re ‘Whos’.” Eavesdropping on the matter, without changing position, Dennis spoke toward the ceiling. ****  
** **

“They’re… owl vocalizations?” ****  
** **

At that Nick did laugh outright, shaking his head in amusement. “No, they're Who's from Whoville, Connor. And that's the Grinch.” ****  
** **

“...My reference search reveals no species by that name.” ****  
** **

“Christ on a _bike_. If you’re so confused, kid, maybe you should just get in here and watch it?” Hank suggested, point blank. “Would probably clear up a lot.” ****  
** **

“It's not long, Connor,” he pleaded with him, patting the empty couch cushion beside him as an invitation. “You'll like it, I bet. It's Christmas!” ****  
** **

_No, it’s two weeks away._ Dennis remarked, purely just to repeat the fact, seemingly. ****  
** **

For a moment, there was no further chatter, besides the ever-rhyming narration of Boris Karloff. ****  
** **

Sumo, having taken an almost- defensive position in front of the couch, whined plaintively, ears perking up as the sound of a kitchen chair scraping the floor. ****  
** **

The old Connor may have, or most likely, downright ignored the offer. If it didn’t have relevance to an ongoing case, it wasn’t worth noticing. ****  
** **

Like the stranded gourami at the Phillips’ loft. ****  
** **

Maybe it was the fact Anderson had invited them home not only to work, but to somehow smooth over the last few days’ worth of upsets, that motivated Connor to accept the offer. He knew where he stood. It wouldn’t earn him any favors to refuse. ****  
** **

“Sumo, move.” ****  
** **

Tail thumping again, the dog only tilted his head. ****  
** **

“Please, move?” ****  
** **

_Nick. I will not resort to climbing over the back of the couch._ ****  
** **

_Aww… he just wants some love, Connor._ He relented, though, sitting up slightly to lure the big dog away from the couch and closer to Dennis’ side, so the other android could get on. Sumo gave another whine at the effort, getting a vigorous scratching along the neck for his good behavior. ****  
** **

“See? Now you pet him, Connor,” Nick said, moving to put one knee on the other cushion so he couldn't sit down just yet. “He needs you to.” ****  
** **

If he felt any desire to protest, the shorter android hid it effectively. Hesitantly, he held out a hand, palm out, to be sniffed. ****  
** **

Examining for himself, Sumo pushed his wet nose into the offered fingers, snuffling in apparent appreciation. ****  
** **

Head hinging forward, Dennis paid the sight a blandly-unimpressed glance before focusing on the TV. ****  
** **

Nick moved his knee after a minute, nodding his head in approval. “Look at that, he likes you!” ****  
** **

Feeding off that positivity, as human pets tended to, the tail wagging revved up once again. Sumo lifted a paw to prod at the android’s shoe. ****  
** **

The dog’s own version of a handshake. ****  
** **

By the way Connor’s LED cycled yellow, and he gave only a slight smile in reply, he evidently concurred.


	13. Escalations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to pile up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy stuff. Not that this is a consistent casefic, but laying groundwork for later...

Whatever rA9 represented in cases of deviancy, that definition soon expanded into uncharted territory. ****  
** **

The first case involving a child landed in their hands. Leaving the precinct, Anderson cursed upon slamming the door shut. Dennis asked if it was really worth getting that worked up over, already. Hank glowered, explaining the matter wasn’t unlike juggling powder kegs with a lit match in one hand. One spark struck at the wrong time would cause a reflash among every ever-grumbling anti-android group within the city limits, and beyond. ****  
** **

In other words, the department would do well to keep this investigation close to its vest. ****  
** **

And so would CyberLife, considering the prime ‘suspect’ was the deactivated frame of an android found on the scene. ****  
** **

Weirder still was what the blacklights had revealed, according to the preliminary notes being forwarded to them en route. And Connor was quick to share with the rest of them: ****  
** **

“RA9 was written on the human victim’s body… in thirium?” ****  
** **

“Long enough so that it evaporated before the scene was found. That they were pitched in the dumpster together wasn’t strange enough, I guess.” Making the left turn, heedless of his the rest of the automated traffic honked, Anderson looked relaxed enough. ****  
** **

Which was a front. Anything involving a dead child instantly put people on edge, police or no. ****  
** **

He hadn’t turned the radio on. ****  
** **

“We’ll know more once we get a time of death.” ****  
** **

Nick shifted uncomfortably in his seat, hands balled up underneath him. Even if the cases they investigated did involve murder and other suspicious causes of death quite often, it wasn't ever a child, not like this. Not one so young, and such a heinous crime. ****  
** **

Who would be sick enough to kill a child, a toddler-aged one at that? ****  
** **

Reclining to his left, looking vaguely comfortable with a lazy, easygoing slouch (as if, since their last encounter two days hence, he were actively _trying_ to match Gavin Reed’s body language), Dennis did his part to keep the mood light: “At least the snow let up. Or else, who knows? They might have been in that dumpster the rest of the season.” ****  
** **

“They'll have to wait for a grave,” Nick mumbled, more to himself than anyone else. He slouched lower in his seat. “Can't dig with the ground frozen. She'll… have to wait.” ****  
** **

It wasn’t so quiet his partners failed to notice. ****  
** **

_Don’t start fretting already, Nick. I didn’t mean that as they were better off not found. And the family may opt for cremation for all we know._ ****  
** **

Ever an understated ray of optimism, Connor added: _You assume the next of kin are even a factor. We’d already have a name to work with if the girl’s been identified._ ****  
** **

_She has to have a family who cares what happened to her,_ Nick started fretting, against what Dennis had told him to do. _She's so little. She can't just be lost like that._ ****  
** **

_Hard as it is to believe, that’s the case we’ve got, Nick. You need to compartmentalize that for now. Once we get there, we need to do our job, figure out what happened to her, okay?_ ****  
** **

Catching his eye in the rearview mirror, Connor raised one brow. _If she doesn’t have a family, that puts the caring aspect on us, doesn’t it?_ ****  
** **

_Someone has to care about her. Barely six-years-old, she couldn't have even tried to defend herself. She was helpless, and someone took advantage of that._ His fists balled even further, face turning almost expressionless with anger at the injustice. _Whoever did it, they need to be found._ ****  
** **

“You boys talkin’ without me again?” Hank interrupted. “You know I don’t care for that.” ****  
** **

Dennis straightened up immediately. “No, sir.” ****  
** **

Hands in his lap, Connor spared him a sideways look. “With all due respect, Lieutenant, we need to confer. We haven’t dealt with a scene together since… a while ago.” ****  
** **

“‘A while ago’? …What happened to Mr. Exactitude, with the time stamps?” ****  
** **

“He’s lying in a disassembly ward back at the CyberLife Tower with a bullet hole through his forehead.” Connor retorted, with some dry humor not unlike Anderson’s own. ****  
** **

Dennis stifled a laugh, coughing static into the back of a fist. ****  
** **

Hank seemed to take it in stride. “Well, points to you for givin’ that much ground. Don’t stir the scene too badly, we may just end up with a lead to work with, especially if the three of you can pool ideas.” ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Ruptured thirium did show up to the naked eye when exposed to blacklight, but trace amounts were often overlooked. For instance, the faint smudges on the corner of a brick building, at the mouth of the alleyway - it was no surprise the forensics techs hadn’t yet discovered them. ****  
** **

Standing guard over his find, Dennis glanced sidelong at those partners passing him by. ****  
** **

“Lieutenant, you may want to tell them to move the crime scene line back another hundred meters, cordon off the sidewalks to either side. There’s more of a trail here than I thought.” ****  
** **

Cursing softly under his breath, Hank about-faced, marching back to relay the order to some waiting patrolmen. ****  
** **

Leaving the RKs alone with themselves, for at least a few moments. ****  
** **

“I guess let's go see the bodies,” Nick muttered, face still screwed up with upset feelings at the situation. “See how bad a shape she's in.” ****  
** **

“You don’t have to if you don’t want,” Connor offered, turning the once-forbidden usage of _want_ on its ear. “There’s plenty of ground left unchecked between here and there.” ****  
** **

All told, it was rather impractical place for their dumpster - at the dead end of a cluttered alleyway between an apartment complex and an out-of-business textile mill. No garbage truck could hope to fit down the narrow space and reach the old, hulking metal container. ****  
** **

Nick started at the use of the forbidden word, giving Dennis a quick glance of surprise before shaking his head. “No, I - I want to see her. Least we can do for her, to try our hardest.” ****  
** **

The redheaded android finally gave a shrug of admission. “I’ll sweep for evidence, then. You two, mind your step. They took stills already, but the less disturbance, the better.” ****  
** **

_And don’t fool yourself, Nick. If you can’t handle it, just back off - immediately, okay?_ ****  
** **

_Yes, Dennis. I know my limits, don't worry. I just - think I may actually be able to help, this time. I've got an actual idea or two._ ****  
** **

He nodded instead of responding to the spoken words, raising an eyebrow at Connor before making his way toward the dumpster. ****  
** **

Their primary didn’t seem to disagree with his newfound motive any more than encourage it. ****  
** **

That was as promising a start as he could ask for. ****  
** **

Just as told, when they finally did make their way to the dumpster and look inside, two inert bodies were sprawled about in it. One a skinless android, one human - a child, at that. Facts he knew, but it seemed to come into much more focus when he was actually staring them down. ****  
** **

For a moment Nick was going to do just as previously suggested. He would turn around and cover the scene with Dennis, pointedly avoid the dumpster and looking at the bodies inside for as long as he could. ****  
** **

But looking at her face, eyes mostly closed with bruised eyelids - whether that was natural or staged, he didn't know - he knew he couldn't just leave her there. ****  
** **

Forgotten, like something thrown away. ****  
** **

_Like Daniel said he was - “something to throw away when you’re done with it.”_ ****  
** **

But an actual flesh-and-blood human? ****  
** **

She was a little girl, little enough that she couldn't have been older than five or six years old. A faint crust of snowy, bloody ice had formed between her stringy brown hair, the visible gash along her brow, and the trash upon which she lay. A long-sleeved cotton shirt, with just a lonely black lamb imprinted on it, seemed to the only thing to protect her arms from the chill of winter when she was alive. Her threadbare pants were tattered and torn, another pitiful guard against the elements. ****  
** **

Her half-open eyes were cloudy, the irises a dusky blue. ****  
** **

Smudges of thirium, fingerpainted in a loose hand, adorned her forehead. ****  
** **

r A 9 ****  
** **

Her shoes were half on and half off as well, enough so that something written inside one was just visible enough for him to catch. ****  
** **

Trying to be as gentle as possible, as to not disturb her (the scene had been processed as much as possible short of actually removing the bodies), Nick reached inside and carefully pulled off one of them, bringing it back out to examine it. ****  
** **

_Rosemarie_ ****  
** **

It was inscribed in the inside of her shoe, looping cursive that made him think it was written by a parent, or guardian. Her mother, perhaps. ****  
** **

“Her name's Rosemarie,” he said aloud, one thumb tracing over the shoe. With how tiny it was, and how big his hands were, it was almost completely engulfed. “Someone wrote her name for her in her shoes.” ****  
** **

Analyzing as he was, Connor blinked out of his processing phase to frown at the shoe. “I can’t find any missing person’s cases with that name. Several Roses, but no…” Trailing off, sensing the uselessness of over explaining how he was coming up empty on identification, he reached over. “May I see that a moment?” ****  
** **

Without waiting for a response, he explained the process they both already knew: _There may be traces of sweat inside that shoe, or other substances indicative of where it’s been. We can try to reconstruct where she came from._ ****  
** **

Unnecessary as the explanation was, at least it made Connor not seem so inherently clinical. ****  
** **

Nick handed it over wordlessly, eyes trailing back to Rosemarie herself. She seemed so tiny and helpless, compounded by the adult sized android and sheer size of the dumpster around her. How was it that Rosemarie was killed and dumped there, with no family for them to contact? Was there anyone else to care for her? ****  
** **

What would happen to her body if they never found her family? The idea of no real funeral for her made him grip the dumpster hard with one hand, the thought of a lonely gravestone that could only identify her as Rosemarie, nothing else. ****  
** **

No birthdate. Only a death date. ****  
** **

He wasn’t given long to muse before Connor piped up. ****  
** **

_Nick, staring at her, feeling sorry, isn’t going to get us any closer to who hurt her. Look, and think. I know your problem is you’re too empathetic, but perhaps you can turn that to your advantage, for once?_ ****  
** **

_Sure._ A one word answer was all he felt he could handle, not when he had to concentrate to try and help the little girl. Not when it fell on him to solve just what happened. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if they walked away from this empty-handed, no way to help Rosemarie. ****  
** **

Perhaps the android lying with her would hold some answers. ****  
** **

He turned his attention to that, the skinless android also lying in the trash. Was this really their prime suspect? It didn't seem exactly likely to him that they killed Rosemarie, and then died themselves. No, it seemed more like they were murdered, together. ****  
** **

Reaching one hand in to try and tell just what model they were gave Nick a surprise when he finally did touch it. All androids were supposed to be registered, but… this one wasn't. How was that possible, at all? Even those fresh off the warehouse assembly lines at CyberLife had their designations. ****  
** **

But not this one. This one was a blank slate, in that regard. And the more he thought about it, brows creased and one hand almost holding the dead android’s hand, this wasn't the first time they saw that, right? ****  
** **

At Cheryl's apartment, the other android's thirium showed up indecipherable as well. ****  
** **

“Connor, you remember the other unregistered android at Cheryl's?” he began, not waiting to hear a reply before speaking again. “This one is like that as well. And… I don't know, it made me think how they hurt Aaron, might've hurt Cheryl, with all the rA9 stuff.. And now Rosemarie is dead…” ****  
** **

“Religious motives? Again?” Connor surmised, eyebrow raised. He still held the shoe in both hands, one of the short laces unwound and held out for examination. “You don’t think this is just a couple of bodies to dispose of, it’s a sign?” ****  
** **

“If they were just bodies to dispose of, why would they write rA9 on her forehead? And why somewhere there was a more-than-good chance they would be found by us?” Nick shook his head with a shrug. “I think there's more to it, that's all.” ****  
** **

“The sole of the shoe has a few carpet fibers wedged between its treads,” Connor revealed, working with what limited data they had (literally) at hand. “And these laces aren’t original. They’re replacements. The original ones sold with this model were yellow, to match the pattern. Someone wrote her name in here, _and_ replaced the laces at one time.” ****  
** **

“She has a family, who _must_ care about her, if they did all that.” An idea entered his head, perhaps a connection to some of the same reasons why Cheryl and Aaron were targeted. “You think… maybe she was looked after by androids? More than just regular child caring?” ****  
** **

“Because of some developmental deficiency?” Frowning, Connor set the shoe back inside the dumpster, close to their victim’s foot. “I’d wait for the medical examiner’s report before making that call. We can’t investigate that far without disturbing any trace clues an autopsy will turn up.” ****  
** **

Stepping back, he gave the overall setup a studied glance. “Most human children are exposed to care from androids at some point in their lives. Some more so than others. If she required more attention, owing to some disorder or situation, you think this android was her caretaker?” ****  
** **

“Maybe not… this android. Why would they be unregistered? But then that leaves the question as to who this android is. Why they were dumped in here as well, with her.” Nick moved over to the other side of the dumpster, to take a look at Rosemarie next. “But I bet there is an android out there who cared for her, more than they were supposed to.” ****  
** **

“And who knows what became of them.” Grim as that sounded, Connor wasn’t one to constantly sugarcoat. He had always veered toward the pragmatic. “Assuming there’s a link, all these rA9 references are to indicate a recurring trend, something about flaunting social boundaries between human and android may be a link in and of itself.” ****  
** **

_There’s also the disappearing blood trails._ Dennis interrupted. _Either of you see residue on the ground, or on the dumpster itself? Hand prints or finger pad shapes?_ ****  
** **

Without answering right away, Nick bent down a bit to check around the dumpster. Up near the lid, almost as if they had also been grabbing it while dumping the bodies inside, was a partial hand print, from either a human adult or an android. ****  
** **

_I see one on the dumpster right here, Dennis. A hand print that's pretty faded. Must've been here for quite some time._ ****  
** **

“Long enough, if there were dermal imperfections they weren’t preserved when it evaporated.” Leaning close, squinting, Connor make a quick analysis of it. “Old, but the smudges on the brick wall were fresher.” ****  
** **

_So they made a mess, getting away, same as Aaron’s scene. No one around to clean up the job or plant distracting false leads._ Slower, as to examine the broken, pitted ground of the alley, Dennis worked his way closer. _No sign of a murder weapon, either?_ ****  
** **

_No murder weapon, but Rosemarie has a gash on her forehead._ Nick frowned, taking a closer look at it. _But I'm sure that's not the cause of death. It was… something else, something we can't see as clearly._ ****  
** **

_It bled for some time before her heart stopped. Unless…_ ****  
** **

Trailing off, Connor leaned further into the open pit, close enough to reach out and touch either victim. His attention seemed to zero in on the girl’s slightly agape mouth. ****  
** **

_No. That isn’t… Nick, do you see that? Her teeth - there’s_ thirium _residue on her teeth._ ****  
** **

Taking a closer look, just as Connor was, made it very clear that he was right. Her teeth almost seemed to be stained a faint blue. _I - I see it. You think they… they poisoned her, forced her to drink it? How could anyone do that to a child?_ ****  
** **

“Whoever it was, they clearly have no scruples about stooping so low.” Summoned to their side by the news, Dennis leaned over Nick’s other elbow as best he was able. “Struck over the head, then forced to consume thirium orally? They wanted her to suffer.” ****  
** **

Nick took a few steps away from the dumpster, letting Dennis get a closer look if he wanted. Perhaps his usefulness in this case had run out, no more deductions to be made by him, not when it was revealed what had happened to her. Wanting a child to suffer for some perceived wrong. The idea instantly made him feel more shaky than before. ****  
** **

Whatever progress he thought he had made, once again, it seemed to regress. ****  
** **

And just when he thought there was something to be encouraged about. ****  
** **

Intent on pouring over the scene, he didn’t expect Connor to ask what he did next. It was something more along the lines of Dennis to say. ****  
** **

_Are you all right, Nick?_ ****  
** **

It was nice to hear, but also confusing in its own way. What had changed for Connor so much that he willingly called him what he wanted, several times, and checked in on him? ****  
** **

_I'm fine. Just - kinda dizzy._ There was no need to bring up the sudden change in attitude, not when there was much more important matters on hand, like a child killer. That could wait. ****  
** **

_Take a few minutes, then. Compose yourself. This isn’t easy for anyone to see._ ****  
** **

He turned around without another thought, eyes going to the ground, one hand going up to chew on his nails. It was a bad habit, but it calmed him down. Who would refuse him that when they were at such a gruesome scene, with such a helpless victim? ****  
** **

Somehow, Carlos Ortiz had been easier to look at. ****  
** **

But at least now he could be squeamish without feeling Connor’s silently scornful gaze boring into him. ****  
** **

He supposed that counted as improvement. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

“Ah, Christ. You’re kidding, right?” ****  
** **

Even at a distance, Connor didn’t miss the ring of Anderson’s cell phone, or the dismay he demonstrated at answering it. ****  
** **

Seconds later, word of yet another deviant-related case cropped up. He saw Dennis’ LED flicker before the rapid beeping in his own ears brought a reflexive wince to his eyes. ****  
** **

Elbow deep in the dumpster, he opened the packet of information with a scowl, realizing just what was being relayed. ****  
** **

_The AX400 from Ravendale. They found it._ ****  
** **

_Not the girl, as well?_ Nick asked, although he already knew the answer. The same data had been allocated to him. _That's… strange._ ****  
** **

Before they could discern just how odd, Anderson ended his call and barked for their attention. His voice echoed off the alley walls. “Boys, c’mon, got another one.” ****  
** **

“And leave this scene unattended?” Dennis asked, ever mindful of procedure. With a couple squad cars already standing guard, this industrial neighborhood wouldn’t have too many onlookers to fend off. ****  
** **

In theory. ****  
** **

Who knew if the killer was playing a bait-and-switch, hiding in plain sight? ****  
** **

“Patrolmen have it handled, Dennis. Unless you want to stay behind, chat up with the ME over the cause of death, we’ve got a mansion full of deviants to process.” ****  
** **

“Full of them?” Nick echoed, taking some steps to get closer to Hank. “That doesn't bode well.” ****  
** **

Anderson was quick to hold up a hand in refusal. “Kid, you might wanna leave this one to me and Connor. You’ve already had one good dose of stress for the day.” ****  
** **

Nick shook his head at him, shoulders going up and down with some defeat. “I have to, Hank. My stress levels are okay, I can handle it. As long as Rosemarie is being taken care of here, I'm good to go.” ****  
** **

“‘Rosemarie’?” ****  
** **

“It’s the name on the victim’s shoe, Lieutenant,” Connor explained, extracting his arms from the trash. Bits of paper clung to his sleeves, which he hastily wiped away. “And you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Nick. Your tolerances aren’t… the most well-tested.” ****  
** **

He stared at Connor again, still clearly unused to the name and the use of the word. Undoubtedly he was wondering what had changed so drastically. “I'll be okay. If I feel too stressed out, I'll… tell you, and stay outside for the rest of the time. I promise.” ****  
** **

Frowning, considering the options, Anderson relented. “Several units are already en route, city and state troopers. We should be okay. But the second your stress level touches fifty percent, you say so, got it?” ****  
** **

“Yes, Hank,” he said dutifully, almost automatically. “Soon as fifty, I'll say something. I promise.” ****  
** **

“Good.” And by the poignant glance the policeman shot him, Connor supposed he was being held to the same promise. ****  
** **

He didn’t need a private commlink message to understand it. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

_You think they’ll bury her soon?_ ****  
** **

The drive would take at least thirty minutes. Connor resigned himself to the idea of another patience-testing conversation in the meanwhile. Seeking a distraction, Anderson cranked the radio up to the tune of some classic Metallica, but there was no room left to enjoy it. ****  
** **

Disabling his external audio receptors, Connor tried to sound tolerant yet again. _You know they will, eventually. But if no one claims her in seventy-two hours…_ ****  
** **

_What then?_ Nick questioned, even if the information was freely available to him. Perhaps he would just rather hear it from Connor himself. _What will happen to her?_ ****  
** **

_She’ll… be stored, given a number. State funds are appropriated slowly to bury the unidentified dead. They always have been. But even if she is IDed… maybe it’s for the better. Some humans duck the responsibility of burying deceased relatives._ ****  
** **

_I guess… you're right. It's winter, they wouldn't be able to bury her anyways._ He frowned, despite seeming to accept the idea. _But what will her grave look like? Will it be nice?_ ****  
** **

Connor sat back in his seat to avoid any mirrored images of disappointment. _It’ll be minimal, Nick. I’m sorry. The funds go into a cheap coffin and breaking the ground. Nothing fancy._ ****  
** **

_But - but she's just a little girl. They can't just do that to her. She deserves something nice. …She has a lamb on her shirt. Can't they even just - put a lamb on her gravestone?_ ****  
** **

There were many cold or even crass things he could say to that. Not all humans were as financially well endowed as, say, the late Carl Manfred. This girl didn’t even have the currency of a name to cash in. ****  
** **

Knowing saying so would be entirely too heartless, Connor tried to amend his response: _If she is given any kind of marker… how about we keep her in mind? Maybe, if there’s a way to convince him, Hank can point us to some financial assistance. ...Or we could carve something ourselves._ ****  
** **

Like the handmade cross at Cheryl McDurmont’s. It wasn’t any precious material. The fact it was made from scratch gave it greater meaning. ****  
** **

_I like that idea. We can keep her grave clean, and keep her in our minds. Make something to remember her by._ The suggestion relaxed Nick, making most of the tension he had been holding go away, leaving him to slump down in his seat. _Thank you, Connor. Rosemarie deserves what we can afford for her._ ****  
** **

_…You’re welcome._ ****  
** **

In some ways, talking Daniel down from throwing himself and Emma Phillips off a skyscraper had been easier. ****  
** **

At least he had only known as much of them as he needed to at the time. It was an open-and-shut affair, as soon as the snipers took their shot. No, he did not intend for such drastic measures to somehow cap off this discussion. ****  
** **

But reactivating his external ears, expecting heavy metal to drown out the commlink chatter, he was in for another mild surprise. ****  
** **

It wasn’t any of Metallica’s more aggressive, rock-driven songs playing. ****  
** **

It was one with a more ironic punch than perhaps he would’ve liked. ****  
** **

_“Never opened myself this way… Life is ours, we live it our way… All these words, I don’t just say… and nothing else matters…”_ ****  
** **

He closed his eyes to listen. ****  
** **

Or at least pretend. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Red and blue lights danced off the front of the old, snow-covered estate. Fast approaching mid afternoon, the sun had commenced its rapid sink to the west. Portable floodlights has been erected in the front yard. Two transport trucks stood in the driveway, bay doors thrown open. ****  
** **

The androids being loaded inside, surrounded by a throng of armed SWAT, were a spectacle in themselves. ****  
** **

Hank scoffed as soon as he saw it. “Shit. Get’a load of this circus.” ****  
** **

Nick brought a hand up, brows drawn together as he watched them as well. They had obviously been deformed beyond any rational thought, for no obvious reason it seemed. Why would anyone… _change_ an android like that? Just to see if they could? The idea made his stress level jump up, for no reason he could think of. ****  
** **

Eyes glued to the sight, Connor was equally silent. His face betrayed no anxiety, as it always tended to. His stress levels remained a flat line. ****  
** **

“What's going to happen to them?” he asked, to no one in particular. “They don't… look like they could be easily fixed…” ****  
** **

Hank’s thoughts may have amounted to something gruff like “hell if I know”, but the man said nothing. Pulling in among the parked squad cars, he turned the key and exited without a word. ****  
** **

_“If you can’t say something nice…” as the human expression goes._ With scant little more to remark on, Connor followed, taking care only to leave the door open for their second passenger. ****  
** **

He got out as well, mumbling a thank you to Connor before shutting the door behind him, taking in the mansion in front of them. It was dark, even with the daylight, despite the illumination of the worklights. ****  
** **

Like it somehow wanted to resist being seen. ****  
** **

The front doors were thrown wide open, as was the gate on the tall, wrought-iron fence. A familiar face stood at the top of the steps. ****  
** **

“Hank. How is it we keep meetin’ like this?” ****  
** **

Sparing Ben Collins a dirty look, Anderson trekked up the risers. “You tell me. I keep findin’ your mug most places I get called to.” ****  
** **

“Hmph. Are we feeling crabby today?” ****  
** **

“Only on days that end in Y. What the fuck _is_ all this?” ****  
** **

Hanging back, just inside the fence, Connor stopped short, glancing over his shoulder. _You ought to wait by the car, Nick. This looks bad._ ****  
** **

Ignoring the direction, he crept forward until he was right behind Connor. _I promise, over fifty and I'll tell you. I don't think anything can really be worse than what we just saw._ ****  
** **

_You don’t know that. We don’t know what’s inside this house. If those androids are any indication -_ ****  
** **

“Scene’s in the backyard, boys.” Waving for them to follow, Anderson made his way into the foyer, followed by Collins. “We need you and your fancy senses.” ****  
** **

He stepped forward, giving Connor one more look of reassurance that he was okay, before continuing to trail after Hank and Collins. ****  
** **

He wasn’t so flighty he couldn’t handle this. ****  
** **

At it turned out, the entire house was a scene. Blasts from a shotgun adorned the walls and stair rails. The only expired bodies lay in the backyard - one slim and feminine, curled on their side, the other husky and masculine, facedown in a dried pool of red. With the area cordoned off, Collins led them to the edge of the holographic tape line before explaining: ****  
** **

“Here lies Zlatko Andronikov, aged 47. The late owner of this fine establishment, I’d wager by the marks on his hands he’s Detroit’s very own android-centric Doctor Frankenstein. Did a few years for embezzlement and fraud. Evidently he went into the black market trade for secondhand synthetics. Met his death sometime last night, going by the state of the footprints.” ****  
** **

“Has anyone disturbed the bodies?” Anderson asked. “All the tracks, overlayin’ each other like this…?” ****  
** **

“Neighbor called it in. Woke up this mornin’ to all the… subjects wanderin’ around inside the yard. Apparently a few of them were howling at the sun as if it were a full moon.” ****  
** **

He shivered at the description, arms going up to wrap around himself. What must have they gone through, to be so mentally broken? How long were they kept in the house, locked away? ****  
** **

He blinked at the thought when it came, before the confusion hit him. No one had said anything about them being locked away, yet the idea came to him anyways. Perhaps it was simply his mind giving him answers. It wasn't so unbelievable to imagine that's what happen, right? ****  
** **

Listening raptly, Connor prodded for more information: “You think one or more of them were the killers?” ****  
** **

Collins shrugged. “Maybe. Body’s kinda beat up like someone was wailing on it with a bat. Fists are more likely. But going by the blood under the gut, I’d say he was shot. We found a box of shotgun shells in the bedroom upstairs.” ****  
** **

Hank frowned, arms folded in contemplation. “And the android with him, how do you know it’s our AX?” ****  
** **

“Just a hunch, but the blonde hair rang a bell. I remember how she took off down the street that day. Girl could probably run like the wind, if she went into sports.” ****  
** **

“And the little girl she was with is gone,” Nick said, mostly to himself. It wasn't a far stretch to think perhaps this android was killed trying to protect the other. “I wonder where she is now.” ****  
** **

Collins nodded. “Gone, or still in hiding. We swept most of the house soon as we got here. But the best part we left for you fellas. The basement where our friends were kept, might be just the place to find clues as to how it happened. Cellar door’s just around that side.” ****  
** **

_They thought to wait to send the expendable plastic in, he means._ Holding off a change of expression, Connor glanced at him. _I can examine the bodies, if you want. With those androids rounded up, there can’t be anything down there except empty cages, right?_ ****  
** **

Nick frowned. Cages. The word alone made his hands instantly shake, although he hid them behind his back to try and stave it off. There was no real reason it should bring on such a reaction, right? ****  
** **

He could do what he was made to do, no matter what. ****  
** **

It wasn’t like Connor said, before. He did have a purpose to fulfill. ****  
** **

This wouldn’t stand in the way of that. ****  
** **

_Nothing… but empty cages, yes. I'll go look._


	14. Distortions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What doesn't kill you...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Some spoilers for _Alone Together_ included.

Experiencing deactivation at Hank Anderson’s hand had been one thing. That had been short and concise. One moment online, and the next, nothingness. ****  
** **

Being on the receiving end of an uplink malfunction was worse. ****  
** **

At least deactivation had been quick and (essentially) painless. ****  
** **

Most androids, whatever their model and manufacture date, they enjoyed a certain amount of privacy within their own processors. Internalized communications were a simple standard. They weren’t intrinsically linked unless physical contact was made - sensors brought into contact, commlink messages opened, wired connectors inserted into access ports. ****  
** **

Like many things, Connor hadn’t fully appreciated what Dennis said the last malfunction had felt like. ****  
** **

Now he did. A chaotic barrage of errors, static, and jumbled signals filtered outside-in, until all one could think about was how badly the other was hurting. His only good fortune was that he wasn’t in the yard when it happened. On a whim, he had thought to stand up from examining the murder scene and go inside. ****  
** **

By his chronometer, Nicholas had been downstairs for some fifteen minutes, without a word. ****  
** **

Mildly unnerved by this lack of contact (even if he wouldn’t admit as much), Connor thought to go inside and see the basement for himself. To check and see what was delaying his partner. ****  
** **

His tentative first step taken down the stairs, the initial disorienting round of fragmented input hit, like an iron weight slamming down atop his head. ****  
** **

_(No… nonono no NO no cage no, don't - don't put me in there NO nonono anything but that don't leave me alone don't lea-)_ ****  
** **

_Cage? Why would -_ ****  
** **

A high, electronic whine filled his ears, holding like a wailing guitar string and silencing his own thoughts for several seconds. ****  
** **

The second after it lapsed, he realized what was causing the torturous noise. Shaking his head, he tried to make his way down the stairs, reeling slightly in turning the corner. A staticky veil dropped over his eyes, throwing his depth perception for a loop. Groping, he reached sideways for a wall, grasping it for support. His gyroscope seemed to think this was worth paying attention to. ****  
** **

Somewhere in the mental clutter, he found his inactive commlink connection. ****  
** **

_Nick? …Nick, respond._ ****  
** **

_(Something saying something but it was just static just background noise no no no NO don't put me in there, don't don't I'll die I would rather die I want to die)_ ****  
** **

The static thickened, then dimmed, then thickened again. Barred shapes began to form, darker, segmented, horizontal slats interposed with several vertical tines. ****  
** **

_(feelings jumble everythin’ else up)_ ****  
** **

What was this? One glimpse of a cage-like structure, and Nicholas was suddenly suffering an uplink-rupturing breakdown? ****  
** **

In vain, Connor tried to raise his voice past the feverish, panicked muttering: _Nicholas, answer! What’s your loc-cation?_ ****  
** **

Instead of an answer, a garbled shriek responded to the words, panicked and on the verge of a complete meltdown from the sound of it. ****  
** **

Pushing through his own systems’ sympathetic revolt, he lurched his way down the final set of stairs. ****  
** **

Doing so with barely any graspable motor control, of course he ended his descent practically faceplanting on the dusty cellar floor. At least six more error windows, displaying problems his partner’s biocomponents’ were suffering, tiled themselves across his eyes. ****  
** **

Venting an almost-annoyed gasp, he pushed himself up on his elbows, forcing a yell past the hitch in his throat. “NiC-ck? Are you down here?” ****  
** **

“No nonono _no_ NO no.” Instead of replying, Nick continued to frantically cry out, almost without meaning to. “No, no, please - don't put me in there, I wanna die, I _wanna_ \- ” ****  
** **

_Want - to. You (don’t)_ **_don’t_ ** _want to - to d-Die._ ****  
** **

The automatic enunciation didn’t orient him as he hoped. It only called up a recent memory fragment of Connor’s own like a buried splinter. ****  
** **

_(Are you afraid to die, Connor?)_ ****  
** **

Shit. This wasn’t about _him_ \- this was about his partner (brother) going through a mental implosion (glitch) less than twenty feet away from his current location, and yet he couldn’t see just where either of them were. It should’ve been easy. His eyes were (weren’t) made to display input from two sources at once. ****  
** **

They were, but typically not without program permissions given, on both sides. ****  
** **

Struggling back to his feet, he staggered onward. ****  
** **

He tried for a pleading tone - something he had never demonstrated before. Maybe the novelty of it would earn him a chance to be heard. ****  
** **

_Nick, res-spond! Answer m-Me, please!_ ****  
** **

_N-NO!_ After the one word answer there was only heavy sobbing, cut off every now and then by other random words, all swallowed back up by the crying. _No - please, I don't want to -_ ****  
** **

_(Go back, don’t want to go back, CyberLife will reset me, separate us, don’t want that, don’t want - anything)_ ****  
** **

There were override commands for these sorts of situations. Deactivation codes were standard issue for most models of android. Humans were quick to recite them in case of emergencies, and if the deviant (android) hadn’t yet cracked its programming walls, an immediate shutdown could be initiated. ****  
** **

Deviancy somehow rendered them useless. ****  
** **

Connor stumbled into the next wall he found. Using it as a crutch, he kept himself standing. Trying in vain to banish the static from his eyes, he glimpsed a timer beyond all the layered error windows. ****  
** **

Receding, glitching numbers. ****  
** **

2

1

0

9 ****  
** **

_A shutdown timer? Still decaying? A time to self-destruct? He can’t be. That doesn’t make sense._ ****  
** **

He tried for a simultaneous message, verbal and internal: _“Nicholas, it’s Connor. Whatever yoUr malfunction, c-cease and de-sis-it. Relay your position,_ **_now_** _!”_ ****  
** **

Perhaps in response to the more authoritative tone of his voice, Nick actually responded, as best he could over their commlink, still sobbing though he was. _No, no, no - I'm in here, no, please, don't, please, don't make me, I don't want to, I just want it to stop._ ****  
** **

_(-to stop! I just want all this to stop!)_ ****  
** **

_You weRe designed to obey, so obey!_ ****  
** **

Repeating himself like a stuck record, vaguely remembering a petrified HK400 cuffed to a table, he swerved his way around the next corner. _Please, I n-neEd yoU (to) “to caLm down.”_ ****  
** **

_(the koi help me stay cal-)_ ****  
** **

_“WheRe ar- ”_ ****  
** **

“Mph!” The next source of resistance he ran into felt considerably less solid than a brick wall. Stumbling over it, he tumbled to the ground, thinking belatedly (aggravatedly) of the next round of scuffs being dealt to his attire. ****  
** **

_(It’s a nice jacket, but… I’ve never worn a hat before)_ ****  
** **

_(There was someone else here, someone else around he didn't want that not right now they would try and put him in there, this was taking too LONG why wasn't he gone already he wanted to be gone his fingers weren't good enough weren't digging deep enough not yet but soon)_ ****  
** **

Coughing, Connor managed to wrench himself up off the floor. His hand touched something wet, wet and real and not imaginary, and it served to jar his focus back into real time. The static fizzled away just far enough to look up and see what he had found. ****  
** **

It was not a pretty sight. ****  
** **

“Nick…? Nick, no, st-top, _stop_ that. Don’t- you’re hurting yourself, no!” ****  
** **

On his knees, Nick didn't even glance to look at him, still staring straight ahead at the cage-like structure in front of him, face terrified and wet from tears. ****  
** **

His jacket was half off, tie torn loose and cast aside, the white button down shirt underneath shredded and stained blue. One hand was clawing repeatedly at where his thirium pump was, deep enough some of the artificial skin was gone, leaving the white plastimetal underneath exposed. ****  
** **

The other hand held a screwdriver, angled toward his injured torso, but only held for the moment. He was muttering rapidly under his breath, eyes glazed and half lidded, unable to see or hear who had found him. ****  
** **

“No, _no,_ I don't want to, no, don't want to _go_ , don't make me, please - ” ****  
** **

Cycling rapidly to an option of last resort, Connor let the skin of his right hand melt away. Reaching across, he grabbed the screwdriver-wielding hand and held firm. ****  
** **

_Nick, STOP and listen. You’re okay. I’m here now. Listen, please._ ****  
** **

He froze at the words, only his other hand still clawing at his stomach, albeit at a slower rate. His face turned, mismatched eyes going even wider when he looked down at Connor, before crumpling. ****  
** **

_C-Connor?_ ****  
** **

With his free hand the shorter android held him up. The knuckle servos of his right hand glowed blue. Blinking quickly, he strained to focus. _Don’t - don’t do this. You’re hurting yourself. Listen to me, you’re okay._ ****  
** **

_I'm not, I'm not, he's going to hurt me,_ Nick thought back feverishly, hand digging deeper for a moment. _You don't understand, I can't - no, I won't, I won't go in there, I can't go in there, Connor, please, don't let me!_ ****  
** **

_You’re all right, you’re not going anywhere._ Even if he didn’t have the slightest inkling what Nick was talking about, that wasn’t important. Getting him out of his self-destruct sequence was. _I won’t let - let him put you there. It’s going to be fine. I’m right here with you. He won’t - he can’t get to you if I’m here._ ****  
** **

_He can't?_ The clawing hand stopped, even if it was just for a moment, eyes darting around frantically, as if on the lookout for the mystery person. His LED was a solid, spinning red, stress still piqued at its max. _You won't l-let him? Please, don't go, Connor, please, don't, I can't - I can't do anything, I can’t stop him, please, don't go._ ****  
** **

The constant stream of data was almost dizzying. Even as his own arm began to shake, Connor held on. ****  
** **

The clawing resumed. ****  
** **

_No. Look at me, Nick. I’m right here next to you._ **_Look_** _._ ****  
** **

He did as told, eyes finally settling on his face, tears still steadily making their way down as he did so. ****  
** **

The clawing slowed again. ****  
** **

The error screens clicked away, one after another. ****  
** **

The countdown timer vanished. ****  
** **

The last of the uplink interference faded. Instead of looking at a warped, disheveled version of himself, refracted through his partner’s eyes, Connor could see as clearly as ever. ****  
** **

It made his own thirium pump speed up in distress. ****  
** **

_See? Right here, not going anywhere. You’re safe._ ****  
** **

Nick let out another sob, but didn't make moves to hurt himself any further, even going so far as to let the screwdriver drop to the floor. _Please, don't leave me alone, Connor, I don't know - why I did this, please, don't leave me. I'm so scared._ ****  
** **

_Scared of what?_ Even if he had some idea, keeping his partner (brother) distracted from the possibility of abandonment seemed wise. _Talk to me, Nick. What’s wrong?_ ****  
** **

_T-The cage, I don't want to go in there. I don't know why, but I can't - even thinking about it, makes me feel terrified. I don't know why, Connor, I just - I can't. Something bad will happen, I don't know what._ ****  
** **

Chancing a look at said structure through the sides of his eyes, Connor frowned. ****  
** **

_It’s just a cage, Nicholas. It can’t hurt you if there’s no one to put you inside, no one to lock the door. There’s no one here, but me, right?_ ****  
** **

And he wasn’t about to toss the other android inside, shut the door on him. There was no reason to. ****  
** **

Who would’ve? Who was Nick talking about? ****  
** **

_No one here, b-but you and me,_ he agreed, before taking a look down at his wounded stomach, bloodied hand still resting there. _I… I don't know why I did that. Please, don't leave, Connor, I don't want to die._ ****  
** **

As much as that sounded like an admission of control, that he had regained a grip on himself, Connor held on. As he watched, the artificial skin slowly regenerated, hiding the white beneath. ****  
** **

_No, you don’t want to die. I don’t want you to die, either. And neither would Dennis, or Hank. Right? Remember them?_ ****  
** **

_Dennis is… back with Rosemarie, and Hank is here,_ Nick sniffed, more tears beginning to fall as he thought of the two of them. _Are you going to tell them? Do they - have to know?_ ****  
** **

Now there was a good pair of questions. ****  
** **

To consider later, far away from this room. ****  
** **

Connor looped his arm under the shoulder nearest him, heedless of the thirium that smeared his clothes. _C’mon. Let’s get you out of here first. Can you stand up for me?_ ****  
** **

_I can,_ he said back, giving one last quiet sob before straightening out, slowly standing himself up with Connor, eyes focused directly on his face so he couldn't catch any glimpses of the cage. ****  
** **

“Good. It’s this way. Just keep looking at me.” Mindful to take small, measured steps, he guided them back down the turn in the hall, toward the stairs. On automatic, he kept whispering encouragement with startling ease. “Don’t look at anything else. There’s nothing that can hurt you if I’m here. We’ll be out soon enough.” ****  
** **

Nick did as told, desperate eyes never straying from his face until they reached the stairs, only quickly flashing to look at them before turning back to Connor, almost wider than before. _Where are we… going, now?_ ****  
** **

With one last reassuring squeeze, he let go of the taller android’s wrist. His other hand patted his back. “Upstairs, back to Hank. Are you okay to do that? …Can you talk?” ****  
** **

He stared at him for a moment, eyebrows drawn down in apparent concentration before opening his mouth to speak. “I - I can talk. …I w-want to see Hank. Please, don't leave, Connor.” ****  
** **

_(I trust you)_ ****  
** **

Daniel’s last words were equal parts encouragement and learning experience. He wouldn’t make a liar out of himself this time. ****  
** **

“I’m not going anywhere.” ****  
** **

_But you might want to close your jacket. …I’ll see about ordering a replacement. That shirt is done for._ ****  
** **

Nick glanced down at the shirt, hiccupping at what he saw. The lower half was almost torn to mere shreds, scraps of it completely gone from where he clawed it off in a panicked haze. After a moment he closed his jacket best he could, to try and hide the mess of thirium and damage he had done underneath. ****  
** **

_Connor, please, tell me, are you going to tell him?_ Nick didn't sound particularly scared with the prospect of Hank knowing, just worried, perhaps, of what that outcome would be. _Does he have to know?_ ****  
** **

_Do you want him to know?_ Levelheaded, even as he tried to process what had almost happened, Connor dared a glance up the stairs. Better to talk in private, lest anyone descend on them. _Whatever provoked that - attack, it was no random bit of relapse code or trigger. That was repressed - trauma of some kind, imaginary or simulated or… there’s no way it actually happened, is there? You were never caged before._ ****  
** **

_I don't know. I r-really don't know what happened to me, or why I felt that way. I felt like… like it happened before, and it was going to happen again._ He shook his head, a pained expression on his face at the lack of clarity. _I just knew I would rather… die, than have that happen again. I just don't want Hank to be mad at me. I was going to say something about my stress levels, but - they jumped so suddenly, I tried to open up the link, but I couldn't._ ****  
** **

_And that’s when you panicked. You went for the uplink instead of the comm._ Miming a sigh, Connor let go. _Just like I did when I… lost my temper with that deviant. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what that could’ve felt like. But now… Hank won’t be mad. If anything, he’ll look at us and say we got into a ‘catfight’._ ****  
** **

_…Okay. I want to see him. I'm sorry, too, for making you feel that, I didn't mean to._ ****  
** **

_I know. It’s okay._ ****  
** **

And even if it wasn’t now, they would get there. ****  
** **

_software_ **_instability ^^^_ ** ****  
** **

Distantly, but not so faint it was unmistakable, a growl sounded on the floor above. “Leave ‘em to themselves, and this is what happens. They go and play hide and se- ” ****  
** **

Turning the corner, Hank Anderson froze, squinted eyes widening threefold. ****  
** **

“Okay, what’d I miss?” ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Thirty minutes and one explanation later, he had an answer. ****  
** **

Pacing the house’s living room (after dismissing every other officer and crime scene technician from their presence), Hank eventually came to a stop, zeroing in on his suspects/patients. ****  
** **

“Fuckin’ A, and we _tried_ to tell you it was too much in one day, kid. _Now_ you think you’ll listen better for it?” ****  
** **

Nick sniffed at the words, one hand steadily wiping away tears before many could fall, the other clutching at his healed stomach, as if it still hurt. “I - I didn't know I would react like that, I'm sorry. I wouldn't have come if I knew. I will, I promise. I'm sorry.” ****  
** **

Connor, standing beside (and slightly ahead of) him, looked mildly guilty to match. “Lieutenant, none of us had any way of knowing. This trigger was completely spontaneous and unexpected. …I thought I was delegating him the lighter duty, sending Nick down there.” ****  
** **

“It’s Ortiz’s attic all over again,” Anderson harrumphed, thinking twice of his tone, by the way it gentled. “In reverse. _Both_ of you should’ve known, and that goes for me, also. We all know what stress can drive your kind to do.” ****  
** **

The Traci at the Eden Club was case in point. ****  
** **

“I was going to say something,” Nick tried to explain himself, almost desperately. “Like you told me to, b-but, it jumped so suddenly, I couldn't speak, I was too scared.” ****  
** **

“And were it not for the uplink malfunction…” Connor trailed off. He seemed momentarily lost before his gaze froze up, a solution jumping to mind. “We should return to CyberLife Tower.” ****  
** **

Hank lifted an eyebrow. “Somethin’ they can do our techs back at the station can’t?” ****  
** **

“A complete system diagnostic.” Even as he said it, uncertainty crept into the primary’s voice, a slight waver barely audible in his words. “The three of us, after an incident of this magnitude, we can’t afford to let it happen again. Protocol decrees we can’t stay deployed if we’re a danger to ourselves and to others.” ****  
** **

“No, no, I don't -” Nick cut himself off with a whimper, pressing his hand harder against his stomach. “Please, don't, I don't want to go back there. I know what… triggered me now, I can avoid it.” ****  
** **

Eyebrow lowered, Hank managed a sympathetic look. “Kid, as much as I may want to indulge that, you’re still CyberLife property. DPD isn’t equipped to handle your needs if another ‘breakdown’ happens.” ****  
** **

“Listen to him, Nick,” Connor prompted, knowing just whose word was most valued between them. “Much as we may not like it… we can’t take any chances. That was just one possible trigger. What if you were exposed to another, in a public place? The Tower is the best place you could go right now.” ****  
** **

He closed his eyes, trying to take a deep breath as he listened to all the opinions and words. “I won't be, I won't. I don't want to go back there, p-please, I don't want to be alone.” ****  
** **

“You wouldn’t be alone. Dennis and I will be there, too.” ****  
** **

“I don't want to,” Nick repeated, eyes opening to skittishly dart around the room, taking a step back from both of them nervously. “Please, d-don't make me. I don't - I won't get triggered again.” ****  
** **

At an impasse, both man and android went quiet, exchanging a weary, helpless look - one he knew what it instantly translated as: ****  
** **

_What_ are _we gonna do with him?_ ****  
** **

“You can’t promise that, Nick. It’s not to say you wouldn’t try, but left unchecked, your impulses will only get worse. Do you want to leave that up to chance?” ****  
** **

“...No. I don't want that. But…” He slumped over with defeat, no longer trying to dissuade them or himself from the inevitable. “They're n-not going to like it.” ****  
** **

“They’d like the news you hurt someone even less,” Connor reasoned, but at least it wasn’t with the harsh, cold stare of before. He looked almost warm and sincere. “If there’s anything they can tell us, perhaps install some program countermeasures, they’re a better chance at getting you help than none at all.” ****  
** **

“Okay,” Nick mumbled, one trembling hand going up to wipe at his eyes again while he hiccupped. “O-okay, if you… think it will help.” ****  
** **

What other options did they have? ****  
** **

No good ones. ****  
** **

“...You forgot the last part, Connor.” ****  
** **

“...Sorry?” ****  
** **

“This.” With no more of an answer than that, Anderson reached out to grab Nick’s shoulder, pulling him into a loose hug. ****  
** **

He let out another faint sob, head going down to rest on Hank's shoulder, arms wrapping around him as well, almost desperate for whatever contact and comfort he could find from Anderson. ****  
** **

“It’ll be okay, Nick,” the man assured him, patting his back - the touch solid and full of confidence. “You’ve had a rough few days. A tuneup can only do you some good.” ****  
** **

Even if he was part complicit in contributing to that stress, if Hank thought it was for the better, his judgement still counted. He didn’t want him to go back to CyberLife on the chance he was reset or never returned. He wanted to see him ‘get better’, too. ****  
** **

What else could they do? ****  
** **

Nick let out a shaky sigh, eyes closed and face still half buried in Hank's shoulder, already more relaxed than he had been before the hug. “Okay, I believe you, Hank.” ****  
** **

Amazing what a difference the gesture made in addition to merely being _told_ everything would work out. ****  
** **

Hopefully, Connor was taking (proverbial) notes. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

“Mind if I sit?” ****  
** **

That was close as Gavin Reed typically got to manners. Without waiting for an answer, he dropped into the vacant chair beside Dennis’ own. Unprompted as the surly man was to join him in the break room, right now, there was no thwarting him. ****  
** **

Elbows on the table, shoulders hunched, Dennis kept his eyes down. The last vestiges of prickly, disorienting feedback static were almost gone from his vision. He didn’t dare jump up and try to move away, lest it somehow aggravate the interference back to a new height. ****  
** **

Reed was tolerable compared to the influx of stimuli the RK800 had just been wrung through. Nothing he could say would make it any worse. ****  
** **

If anything, he was providing a most convenient distraction. ****  
** **

Clenching his shaking hands still, Dennis took a tight breath. “Do you need something, Officer Reed?” ****  
** **

“Nah. Just happened by, wonderin’ what's got you so freaked out.” One eyebrow raised, only the barest smirk on the man's face. He wasn't asking to just bring up bad memories, he was genuinely curious. “I know you ain’t here for the coffee. Look like you've been some sort of... fuckin’ spooked.” ****  
** **

Spooked. ****  
** **

Dennis had to do a quick cross-reference to understand. Once he did, he had to hold off an unsightly grimace. ****  
** **

Emotional distress. Gavin had no mercy for those kinds of moments of weakness. ****  
** **

“I am… spooked, I mean. And I don’t… know what brought it on.” ****  
** **

That was part lie: he knew exactly what an uplink malfunction felt like. He had been through one once before. And now, even with distance a factor, it felt dreadfully similar. ****  
** **

But for vastly different reasons. ****  
** **

“What d'you mean, you don't _know_? Some coding glitchin’ up in there?” Reed tapped his own forehead, letting out a huffed scoff at his explanation. “C'mon. Somethin’ scared you shitless. Now, what was it?” ****  
** **

Hesitantly, Dennis glanced up, reverting to the first explanation he could verbalize. “You… It’s difficult to equate in human terms, Officer. You don’t have a communal sensory array suspended in a matrices lined with several transfer/receive stations to maximize - ” ****  
** **

“What the _fuck_ are you talkin’ about? Jesus, in English. I don't speak robot.” ****  
** **

Shutting his mouth with a _click_ , Dennis clenched his hands even tighter. “Something scared one of my partners - badly enough it caused a breach of my own processes. Like the night you shot me, remember?” ****  
** **

Gavin tensed, almost seeming a bit uncomfortable at the reminder of what he had done. “Yeah, I remember. …And three guesses as to which one of your partners got scared. And now you're scared, because of him?” ****  
** **

“I am - _over_ the bulk of it, I think.” Blinking for effect, Dennis let his tensed shoulders relax. “As is he. But this was… worse… than before. I only thought to put myself here until the worst was over, lest I… endanger anyone.” ****  
** **

“ _Endanger_ anyone?” Reed echoed again, expression changing into one more curious than before. “Shit, must've been bad. What the hell happened?” ****  
** **

There was no simple answer to that. Or there was, but Dennis didn’t prefer to so quickly give in to the “don’t know” reasoning when he knew there was the possibility of being more eloquent. ****  
** **

Last time, there had been an explanation: Connor snapped. Such a long-contained reservoir of frustration seemed to reach a new boiling point. For weeks, Dennis had assumed the cause of the breach was a proverbial flashpoint: given a suspect to vent his fury on, Connor’s emotional inhibitors temporarily failed. ****  
** **

In an attempt to dilute them, the uplink opened up on an emergency automatic. ****  
** **

It might have been endurable, had their primary not resorted to the memory probe. Accessing another android’s memories was an invasive, jarring experience under the wrong conditions. ****  
** **

They didn’t get much more wrong than plugging in while the suspect’s stress levels were galloping at 95% percent. ****  
** **

The fallout had been so strong as to momentarily cripple Dennis and Nick. Driven out of sheer concern and a toxic mix of impulses, Nick broke through a door and (apparently) fought off half the station to reach the interrogation room. ****  
** **

Slower to act, Dennis tried to follow, only for a startled Gavin Reed to put a stop to him. The man may just have saved his fellow officers a lot of trouble in doing so. The rest was a blank before the reactivated RK reopened his eyes in the zen garden. ****  
** **

That was last time. ****  
** **

_This_ time, however… ****  
** **

“As best I can tell…” Slowly, Dennis tried to correlate what little he knew: “He tried to access a data cache of some kind, and the information inside… triggered a sheer spike in his stress levels. He looked into something he shouldn’t have.” ****  
** **

“So he got some sorta PTSD reaction?” Reed's eyebrows furrowed as he tried to translate the information into a more human response. “If there's any android that could develop that, I guess it ain't surprising it's him. Might explain the eye thing, too. And you saw that, with him?” ****  
** **

Eye thing? ****  
** **

A PTSD-driven response at the thought of being confined, caged? ****  
** **

Why did that factor in? Did a few weeks’ time outside of the Tower have that profound an effect? ****  
** **

“I saw. I just don’t know _what_ I saw.” Blinking sharply, Dennis went for a question of his own: “How could his stress be considered post traumatic, though? We were never… kept in _cages_ on Belle-Isle.” ****  
** **

“Fuck if I know,” he said, but not unkindly, just the truth. “I don't know your story, man. You know all of his? You together all the time? I'm not saying that's exactly what it is, just what it sounds like.” ****  
** **

Sounds like. ****  
** **

There were an abundance of blank gaps throughout his memory banks. He always attributed them to recharge cycles, diagnostic sessions, or the reactivation process in general. Was it the case they weren’t as blank as he had been programmed to think? ****  
** **

What if there was data there, data he couldn’t access, much less process? What if it pertained to the RKs’ collective memories, not just his own? ****  
** **

“...Fuck if I know.” ****  
** **

Gavin let out a burst of laughter, shaking his head at Dennis in sheer amusement. “ _Fuck_ if you know, exactly. If you're so concerned about it, just ask him when he gets back. It's bound to be soon.” ****  
** **

“I intend to.” Dennis almost smiled. The moment felt borderline genial - perhaps the first semi-understanding they had reached one month after meeting. But he knew Reed wasn’t the comradely, sentimental kind of man. Best not go there. “Thank you for your… attentions, Officer. It’s helped.” ****  
** **

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” He stood up, arms crossed with relaxed ease, as if the moment didn't mean anything to him. It most likely didn’t - but any excuse to leave the desk for a spell was welcome, it seemed. “Can't have all of you freakin’ out all the time. That one does it enough for the three of ya.” ****  
** **

Defensive, Dennis sat up straighter, looking Reed in the eye. Anderson wouldn’t tolerate such talk about Nick behind his back. “He’s a work-in-progress, Officer. We all are.” ****  
** **

_It ain’t easy being green_ , so the old song went. ****  
** **

But their affinity for the old Muppets movies was probably better kept just as secret as anything that went on at CyberLife. ****  
** **

Wouldn’t want Reed to suffer a laughter-induced aneurysm or anything. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

“Yes.” ****  
** **

“No.” ****  
** **

"Yes."

" _No_."

“Stop being petulant and _go_ already.” Exasperated, but not without some tint of concern, Connor slid the box with the replacement garment back across the desk. _You can change your shirt in the restroom. You’ll be less of a spectacle that way._ ****  
** **

_…No._ Nick shook his head, but didn't sound nearly as opposed to the idea, just trying his hardest to change Connor's mind. _I can change here. It's not - against many social norms._ ****  
** **

_This isn’t a gym, Nick._ Dennis lectured tolerantly, looking on as Lieutenant Anderson closed the door to Fowler’s office. _You don’t see any of the humans changing their clothes in full view of each other, do you?_ ****  
** **

He was drawing enough odd looks as it was. On his way out, Officer Reed’s passing reaction has been painfully atypical: “Lawnmower: 1, Nicky boy: negative-50.” ****  
** **

He didn't give Gavin a response at the time, still too exhausted and drained from the ordeal at the mansion. ****  
** **

And now he was just prolonging the inevitable. ****  
** **

But he had to try. ****  
** **

_Not right now,_ he argued with Dennis, looking around at all the humans. Some were indeed gawking. _But… they might. I'll do it quickly._ ****  
** **

_Stop - no, give it here._ With that very-unofficial sounding command, Connor snatched the CyberLife-stamped parcel away. The scrambling motion resembled a very quiet argument taking place, even if they were the only ones privy to the words. _You need to respect their customs. No disrobing in public. And Anderson would be telling you just the same right now, too._ ****  
** **

_…Fine._ He gave Connor a half glare, eyes half-lidded with fatigue. _Give it back, I'll go to the bathroom, if it's so important. …It's not like I would be taking my pants off, though. That's worse._ ****  
** **

_But it needs to be -_ Dennis stopped short at the venomous glare Connor aimed his way, pausing to carefully reconsider his wordage. _On second thought, leave it untucked. Just remember to redo the tie._ ****  
** **

He stood up, grabbing the package back for himself with a sigh. _I don't even like it. Feels like it's choking me. …Thank you, though, for ordering it for me, Connor._ With his last complaint made, and thanks given, Nick made his way to the station bathroom. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Dennis waited all of twenty seconds before recanting. ****  
** **

_…Think I should go with him?_ ****  
** **

At that Connor only gave a very convincing sigh, decidedly aiming his eyes at the ceiling.


	15. Suggestions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, why couldn't they just say so from the start?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Transitional chapter is transitional.

He couldn’t remember the last time the three of them had entered report mode simultaneously, with the same intent in mind. Yes, Amanda spoke to Connor more often than Dennis or himself. But she was still as much their overseer now as she was upon their collective activation back in March. ****  
** **

At the same time, there was no doubt the dynamic had changed in the month since CyberLife had turned them ‘loose’. ****  
** **

Nowhere was it more evident than the row of three headstones. ****  
** **

Passing by, Nick took the sight in skittishly, no doubt imagining how close he had been to adding a fourth to the virtual graveyard if he wasn't stopped. He took a wide berth around the glowing fixtures, as far away as the stone path allowed, stopping to anxiously stare them down before moving on when urged to by Dennis.  ****  
** **

There was someone they had to meet with, of course.  ****  
** **

The trees were beginning to turn. Where once they were lush and filled out, the greenery was giving way to golds, reds, and browns. It was rather peculiar in a place that seemed essentially timeless the change of seasons was being simulated at all. ****  
** **

The rose trellises out on the pond’s central island weren’t dying, either. The blossomed bulbs merely closed. ****  
** **

Amanda seemed to be tending to them in the reverse. She made no move to turn and greet anyone before the three RKs settled into an uneasy row, waiting to be called upon. Perhaps a minute passed before she said anything. ****  
** **

“Well. This is a meeting certainly very long overdue.” ****  
** **

They didn’t need to explain. She already knew, as always. ****  
** **

“Hello, Amanda,” Nick mumbled, taking the plunge with who would address her first. He kept it at that, concise and to the point, instead of adding anything else. ****  
** **

“We have been lax in our reporting,  _ very _ lax,” Dennis admitted, in a tone that neither veered into seeming too submissive or too defiant. “The synchronicity factor has suffered, no doubt.” ****  
** **

“We’ve already taken some corrective measures.” Connor followed it up with, to the indifferent answer of snipping shears. “Following a complete system diagnostic, the technicians declare we’re all operational.” ****  
** **

“To a fault,” Amanda retorted, pausing in her trimmings to regard them with a shrewd glance. “I’ve seen the results your efforts to solve the deviancy problem have borne. Mixed - is the best word I can find to describe them. What do you have to say for yourselves on that front? …Nicholas?” ****  
** **

“I dunno,” he said, almost tiredly. Every time, he never had any sufficient explanations for his behavior, or how it affected his two partners. Why would he have one now? “Two out of three, like before, I guess. We've done some good this time around, at least, but… I guess it's gotten worse in some ways.”  ****  
** **

“Objectivity was never your strong suit,” Amanda recalled. She paused to examine one of the vines. “And you continue to demonstrate signs of irreversible program instabilities. Today’s mishap may well have been a valiant effort to put yourself back on track, but to say it simply backfired would be a gross understatement.” ****  
** **

“I… I didn't know I would react that way, to the c-cages,” Nick tried reasoning with her, almost anything to cut the conversation from the direction it was being taken. “It was spontaneous. If I show such - signs, why do you keep sending me back out in the first place?”  ****  
** **

“Your perspective isn’t without its own merits, skewed as they are, Nicholas,” she intoned, as unfettered as ever. “What better way to discern a deviant’s behavior than by employing one itself?” ****  
** **

Dennis seemed to tense at the declaration. His hands clenched at his sides, eyes forward. “Pardon me for saying so, Amanda, but that seems rather… disingenuous.” ****  
** **

“What you were designed and developed for demands such measures be taken, Dennis. There is nothing personal to feel about it. You three were made to solve a problem, not raise more questions in doing so.” ****  
** **

“That's not fair, though,” Nick argued, sounding half outraged and half hurt from the reveal of what his true, ineffective purpose was. “You - you said I had to do better, not be deviant, and now you're saying that's what I'm supposed to be? I wouldn't have stressed myself out so much, if I knew.”  ****  
** **

Maybe that was the very point? ****  
** **

Impartially, Amanda snipped a withered leaf from the vine. “That you didn’t know was part of the plan. It isn’t as though one can order an android to  _ go _ deviant. The process is gradual. And with how quickly you deferred to it, Nicholas, no amount of resetting would keep you from where your program wanted to go. If anything, we permitted you the most leeway out of any endeavor CyberLife has ever funded.” ****  
** **

“To what end?” Connor asked, plainly bewildered. “If you knew he was destined to fail, why entertain any other possibility?” ****  
** **

She smiled thinly. “What one considers failure is a matter of perspective, Connor. Nicholas may never have been primary investigator material, but he’s served his purpose via other avenues.” ****  
** **

“So I was just supposed to go deviant all along, just to… give a new perspective? Help Dennis and Connor figure out what warning signs there are to look for?” Nick asked, taking a step back from Amanda. Some agitation showed itself through his body, hands twisting together more forcefully than before. “What now, then? If I've… served my purpose?”  ****  
** **

Amanda raised an eyebrow. “Oh, your tenure is not quite up. But for the time being, you should consider yourself removed from active cases. You will not accompany your partners to any crime scenes. You will not evaluate evidence or speak to detained suspects. If you maintain any presence around the police station, it will only be in a clerical capacity.” ****  
** **

“You get to ride a desk, in other words,” Dennis drawled, with a shrug to match. His hands loosened to match. “Not much different from what you were already doing.” ****  
** **

He blinked, before shrugging himself. “...Okay. That's better than I expected, I guess.”  ****  
** **

“Our aim isn’t to upset you. We’re working with what we have. Even if you three haven’t quite met our intended expectations, you’ve done the company a service nonetheless.” ****  
** **

“Could've fooled me,” Nick muttered under his breath. “Glad an attempted shutdown worked out so well for you.” It wasn't any serious bite at the idea of it helping, just his general bitterness of his planned deviancy from the start, especially after stressing and panicking so much over not being in line with the other two.  ****  
** **

Talk about wasted energy. ****  
** **

Amanda favored him with one more ponderous look before turning back to the roses. “As for the cages’ affect, it was probably no more than a misconstruction, a byproduct of the stress you felt, after attending to that terrible scene in the dumpster. Keep your reconstruction processes disabled, and it shouldn’t happen again.” ****  
** **

Nick opened his mouth, hesitated, then seemed to choose his words all the more carefully. “Okay, if you say so. …I just - it felt… different. Like it actually happened, and I was… terrified someone was going to put me back in there. I dunno. I'll keep them disabled.”  ****  
** **

No one bothered to correct his lack of enunciation. ****  
** **

Again. ****  
** **

Maybe deactivation would have been somehow preferable now, to being told all his worry was for naught and set aside. Instead of helping solve his problem, CyberLife was professing indifference. They wouldn’t go out of their way to make his situation worse, but they wouldn’t lift a finger to assist him, either. ****  
** **

He wasn’t disappointed. The cards were on the table. He cared no more for the company than they his waning usefulness. Rather, he felt like the very definition of discouraged. ****  
** **

A pointless thorn in the side of the program - removed from the equation, where did it leave him? ****  
** **

Going nowhere. ****  
** **

He flinched involuntarily at the feeling of a hand settling on his back, patting once, twice, three times. Thinking he knew who it was, being so bold as to try and console him right in front of Amanda, he almost didn’t look back. Only Dennis had developed enough of a genuinely-defiant attitude to risk such a gesture at a time like this. ****  
** **

Had Connor not made the suggestion, he wouldn’t have known it was him. ****  
** **

_ Go into stasis mode for a while, Nick. Give your systems a break. They need it - now more than ever. _ ****  
** **

Turning back to Connor, his eyebrows furrowed with confusion, opening his mouth to ask just  _ what  _ changed. Had a gunshot to the head really altered him so much that he felt so much more gentle around him?  ****  
** **

But still, Nick closed his mouth. It wasn't worth asking about. All that mattered was that something changed, right? That was what he wanted,  _ exactly _ what he wanted. A hand on his back and gentle words telling him to basically take a nap.  ****  
** **

From someone he had once thought would never deign to do so. ****  
** **

_ …Okay. Thank you, Connor.  _ ****  
** **

He would worry about whether it was all for real later. ****  
** **

\----- ****  
** **

Next he woke up, it was just where he expected to be: conked out on the desk beside Lieutenant Anderson’s. ****  
** **

He raised his head blearily, one hand going to rub at his eyes, even if it was unnecessary. It was a move he saw a lot of the police officers do, especially with their long shifts - rubbing sleep out of their eyes. The hat, that felt more like his than Hank's by now, was beside him, as if it had slipped off when he was in stasis.  ****  
** **

Without truly looking around to see who was still about the station, he merely closed his eyes again with a sigh and put out a comm ping.  ****  
** **

_ Dennis? Are you here, at the station?  _ ****  
** **

His tracker indicated as much. And the second’s response only confirmed it. ****  
** **

_ Downstairs. Evidence locker. …Why? Everything okay up there? _ ****  
** **

_ Yes, everything's fine. Was just wondering where you were. Connor is - gone? Out of the building?  _ ****  
** **

Not that he wanted him away, but the newfound emotions and gentleness of him was a bit much to handle at the moment. Even if it was everything Nick ever wanted, to get it so suddenly, it made him nervous. Who's to say what it meant, if Connor wanted something from him later on or not, if it was a ploy?  ****  
** **

Right now, he would much rather talk to Dennis. And think it was all  _ not _ a cruel ruse. ****  
** **

_ He’s out with Lieutenant Anderson. Some trouble at the docks. Said they could handle it themselves. …I advised them to let you stay in stasis. _ ****  
** **

Because what was he now, besides an overemotional paperweight? One CyberLife couldn’t even be bothered to allocate storage for? ****  
** **

That was all they deemed him good enough for, anyways. Provide Dennis and Connor with a way to understand deviancy, while he slowly tore himself apart in the process. Not that it mattered to CyberLife at all - even with his attempted self-inflicted shutdown, they brushed it off like it was nothing.  ****  
** **

Nick clenched his fists, before deciding to get up. It would do him no good if he got any more worked up than he already was, staying at the desk.  ****  
** **

_ Can I come down with you? I don't want to be alone, right now.  _ ****  
** **

No hesitation:  _ Meet me on the stairs. Isn’t a rule that says we can’t. _ ****  
** **

Rules. Even if Dennis only meant well in his reply, it wasn’t without a reminder of the ever-present constraints they faced. Didn’t it go without saying? ****  
** **

_...Okay.  _ ****  
** **

Everything was just piling on top of each other for Nick today: the unfairness of his situation, that of androids in general, every time he panicked for ultimately no reason… usually, he felt despair and fear at his situations. But today, for some reason, he felt more upset, not exactly inclined to cry - and kind of angry.  ****  
** **

It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed. Seeing Dennis might help ease it away, hopefully, so Nick made a speedy trek to the stairs, eyes planted on the floor in front of his feet so no one made the mistake of stopping him to speak. Affecting an aggravated look was usually a good deterrent. ****  
** **

Once he made his way to through the set of doors, Nick sat down, chin on his knees, arms shaky with emotion, while he waited for Dennis to sit down beside him. Instead of speaking out loud, he kept it between the two of them, just in case. There was no way he would want a human to hear him.  ****  
** **

_ Thanks, Dennis. I didn't wanna be up by myself anymore.  _ ****  
** **

_ That was… quick. _ ****  
** **

He heard the glass door to the evidence room chime and close, followed by footsteps. The lights dimmed. Already looking up, searching him out, Dennis rounded the corner. In the near-dark of the short stairwell, the cyan android markers of his jacket glowed. ****  
** **

“What’s wrong?” ****  
** **

Now  _ there _ was a loaded question. ****  
** **

He almost went for a sarcastic “what isn't” before disregarding it with a shrug of his shoulders. It wasn't fair to take out any aggravation and anxiety on Dennis, not when he was just looking to help.  ****  
** **

“I don't… like being lied to,” Nick said eventually, going for the easiest source of anger. There were far more complex reasons as well, ones he couldn't put into words as smoothly. “Or - or when it turns out it doesn't matter whether I'm upset or not.”  ****  
** **

“Most wouldn’t find either feeling very pleasant,” Dennis reasoned, after a moment’s pause. Crossing his arms in a loose hold, he leaned against the wall - another adopted move very reminiscent of Reed and sometimes Anderson. “At least CyberLife didn’t pull a full Daniel on you?” ****  
** **

Bad time to bring that up, or was it? Just the fact he was still online and able to process how awful he felt was some kind of poor consolation? ****  
** **

Calm down, he needed to calm down before he got too upset or angry and did something he regretted. Already, he had so much he regretted with his emotions, number one perhaps having them in the first place. Dennis wasn't looking to upset him, so Nick wouldn't let himself give into it.  ****  
** **

If it were anyone else trying to somehow justify it…  ****  
** **

“Sure, yeah,” he said after a moment, not very convincingly, but not sarcastically either. “Least they just don't care.”  ****  
** **

“Can you imagine if they did?” Dennis tried for a thin smile. “We’d all be lying in pieces back on Belle-Isle right now.” ****  
** **

He imagined it every day, either him being shut down or all of them, or even if somehow his partners were shut down and he was allowed to suffer alone without them. Maybe coming down here wasn't a good idea, not when Dennis was saying stuff like that. It wasn't his fault, though, so Nick wouldn't get angry, couldn't allow himself to get upset with him.  ****  
** **

“Yeah,” he mumbled, training his eyes back on the floor. “I don't wanna think about that.”  ****  
** **

“Neither do I. But in terms of how it could be worse…” Letting the thought hang unfinished, the shorter android paused, almost ominously. “I don’t know, either. I just tell myself these things near constantly. Or else I start agonizing too much about the uncertainty of it all.” ****  
** **

Nick cocked his head at the admission, eyes going back up to Dennis. Them both being so uncertain, it was almost nice to know it wasn't just him who was so worried. Of course, it would be better overall if they didn't have to be worried in the first place.  ****  
** **

But beggars couldn’t be choosers. ****  
** **

“Dennis, I don't want to die,” he began, taking a deep breath as he said so. “I'm not - going to just let myself die. I don't want you to die, either. But I don't think… I'm not sure CyberLife is gonna want that to happen.”  ****  
** **

“No. They won’t leave us online indefinitely.” Voice lowering, Dennis’ stance tightened. He glanced up at the still-closed doors above them. “If it’s in their plans, that is, they’re waiting for some reason. Our usefulness isn’t up yet.” ****  
** **

“But it will be, someday.” Even just thinking about it caused an increase in his stress level, but it was important for them to talk about, wasn't it? It was the truth. One day CyberLife would tell them their usefulness was up, and order them to be shut down. ****  
** **

And there would be no reactivation in store. ****  
** **

“I don't… we can't just wait around for that to happen to us, Dennis.”  ****  
** **

“So what do you propose?” Scowling, only for lack of a reason to be happy with this mutual agreement, Dennis tapped his LED. “We just pop these off and run away?” ****  
** **

Something about the sentence made Nick pause, brows furrowed. ****  
** **

Clearly, some of the anger trying to get a foothold on him had already rooted itself into Dennis. He sounded instantly tense, resentful of what their meager options consisted of. He didn’t want to run away any more than he wanted to be used up and shut down. ****  
** **

He wasn’t unfazed. ****  
** **

“Hank could help us,” Nick suggested, but as soon as he said it, he knew it was a lost cause. Even if the man could help them, and maybe even would, neither of them would allow him to risk so much for them. “Or… nevermind. I dunno, Dennis. There's not anything we can really do.”  ****  
** **

“Not yet.” Dennis’ scowl eased. Ever calculating, he didn’t let his temper just take control and keep it. He wasn’t a fidgeter, but absentmindedly raked his fingers over the CyberLife triangle on his chest, LED spinning yellow at a rapid clip. “We don’t have enough information to plan so far ahead. If you can suffer from some… long-buried PTSD trigger and not even know, there may be others, of any design. Bolting from our station may be the worst thing we could do.” ****  
** **

However much of a crackpot conspiracy theorist it made him sound like, the assumption wasn’t totally ludicrous. ****  
** **

CyberLife had left them assigned to the DPD for a month. Perhaps there were triggers, intentionally buried in their systems, just like the unknowing espionage agents Hank once talked about. ****  
** **

Or maybe it was just fear masquerading as paranoia. Dennis wasn’t without a touch of that himself. ****  
** **

“And Connor,” Nick sighed, propping his chin up on one hand. “We can't leave Connor, or anything like that, especially not now. And with those triggers… I guess we really are stuck.” ****  
** **

Trapped by deficiencies they neither knew about or were in a position to ask about. ****  
** **

“But… cages?” Dennis frowned, bewildered. “That’s a strange one. Why would the idea of a cage bother you?” ****  
** **

“I don't really know, Dennis.” He frowned as well, because it really was very puzzling as to why cages would cause such a reaction to him. Of course he didn't want to caged, but it wasn't any ordinary fear - even just thinking about it left him feeling on edge. “But it wasn't like, a new fear. It was as if it happened before, to  _ me,  _ and the idea of going back… it was too much panic to handle, with the cage in front of me.”  ****  
** **

“And you felt it  _ after _ you accessed the reset station’s hard drive?” ****  
** **

“Yeah, but I don't…” Nick trailed off, shaking his head helplessly as he tried to explain just what was so odd about it. “I don't understand why, or how, or just… it doesn't make sense.”  ****  
** **

Dennis sighed. Anything not making sense always got under his skin. “Maybe the station itself was rigged? Some… anti-intrusion program was installed in it, scrambled your reconstruction process, brought up some… vivid hallucination?” ****  
** **

“Maybe, yeah…” Maybe that was right, but something in Nick's stomach told him there was more to the story than that. If it was just an incredibly vivid hallucination, he wasn't sure he would still get as worked up as he did, even just thinking about being caged again. It was enough sheer terror he was willing to try and offline himself without a second thought. ****  
** **

And it didn't exactly explain the other thing he apparently told Connor in a panic - warnings about a man, who was going to cage him. ****  
** **

“Maybe, I'm not sure. It just felt so real, but like - it was right there, but I couldn't exactly remember it. Like I was wiped, but some of the feelings and a bit of memory was left over.”  ****  
** **

“Remnants of a defrag process.” Nodding, Dennis pushed off the wall, climbing a few steps before turning around to sit beside him. “I thought that was my problem, too. Every session back on the Isle, I was told it was residual code, benign traces. I’m thinking it’s more than that - like a tip of an iceberg.” ****  
** **

“They've lied to us before,” he said solemnly, folding his hands in his lap. “I don't expect them to be truthful about anything now. There has to be more to this, with both of us… something else, something they don't want us to know. But why?”  ****  
** **

“Because CyberLife epitomizes secrecy,” Dennis grumbled, stretching one leg out, keeping the other bent at the knee. “The CIA has worse kept secrets than them.” ****  
** **

Nick couldn't help a light smile at the analogy. Even when they were both upset, in a serious conversation, Dennis still managed to keep things a bit light, if not just unintentionally. “You're not wrong. ...I hope we learn all the - triggers, someday, though. Who knows what they are, or if you have any of them?” ****  
** **

“If I figure them out, I’ll notify you immediately.” Scoffing at his own pseudo-robotic tone, the next remark was much more loose: “Fuck if I know, otherwise.” ****  
** **

That did Nick in. He let out some laughter, belatedly remembering to try and stifle it. For some reason, Dennis had quite the mouth when he wanted to, it seemed. “Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you swore, Dennis.”  ****  
** **

Before he could think to stand up, an arm caught him around the back of the neck in a half hug. ****  
** **

Smirking, another almost-perfect imitation, Dennis pulled him close and wagged a finger in his face. ****  
** **

“Better not. I know where to find you.” ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

If only the same could be said for the renegade deviants. They had apparently taken a big risk to get what they needed from the docks. Crossing the half-frozen banks of the harbor, the CCTV of the shipping container holding area only caught glimpses of four backpack-wielding figures weaving their way toward the main warehouse. Besides that grainy footage, half-obscured by falling snow, there were only the cargo manifests and the witness statements to show for Connor’s thoroughness. ****  
** **

Sumo listened to Dennis (quietly) rant about the lack of leads with the utmost patience. ****  
** **

It wasn’t as though he could bounce ideas off of anyone else. Seated on the floor in front of the couch, Nick had ‘zoned out’ to the tune of some classic nature documentary called  _ Blue Planet _ . ****  
** **

Because, when it came to fish, he really was hopeless. He did manage to glance over at Dennis once, before going back to the documentary, one arm slung over Sumo as they sat partially together.  ****  
** **

The Saint Bernard’s ear twitched to attention the next Dennis spoke up, trying to ascertain the point of origin, so as to possibly backtrack the trespassers’ route: “So, of course they came from the open water side of the property. Every other direction was fenced and covered by patrol drones. Provided they survived not falling into the river somehow, what was their plan to get out?” ****  
** **

“Water,” Nick repeated, picking out the word that reminded him the most of what he was currently watching. Even if he wasn't exactly sure what Dennis was talking about, he could at least make some minimal effort to respond, even with the television captivating him instead. “Like the ocean.”  ****  
** **

_ Could that be it? That could be where they… no, androids aren’t inclined to swim. We can, but it’s not recommended. But deviants, pressed for options, they just might… _ ****  
** **

Tapping a stylus against the tablet’s side, Dennis leaned back into the couch, crossing his legs, aiming his most deadpan glare at the ceiling. ****  
** **

It didn’t mind dirty looks. ****  
** **

“Why don't you take a break, Den?” Nick asked him, glancing around to look at him for a quick moment before turning his attention back to the screen. Sumo let out a whine, almost a sound of encouragement. “It'll wait for you, don't get stressed. You can watch this with me.”  ****  
** **

_ Because that’s his answer to everything - less stress, the better. It only exacerbates the normal wear that occurs in one’s processors over time. _ ****  
** **

Frowning, Dennis set the tablet aside, without taking his eyes off the ceiling. ****  
** **

“No, thanks. I have something else in mind.” ****  
** **

This was a comfortable enough place to slip into temporary stasis. And Lieutenant Anderson wouldn’t return for some hours. If the doorbell rang, there were two sets of ears besides his own listening for it. ****  
** **

He couldn’t remember the last time he effectively napped. ****  
** **

Precisely as his eyelids fell halfway shut, the first juddering image flashed by. White letters, rendered in peeling paint, on a wall of rusty metal, gleaming under a glaring sunset. ****  
** **

**J E R I C H O** ****  
** **

Giving a gasp, Nick rocked back, undoubtedly having seen the same image, hitting into the couch with a jolt. “Wha - what? Dennis?” ****  
** **

Thrown for a moment, a gasp caught in his throat, he tried to reorient himself. Blinking hard didn’t force the image away. All he managed was a confused, electronic warble before his vision - along with every other external sense - went momentarily dead. ****  
** **

Static filled his ears. He couldn’t hear the television, or the muffled barks of noise that were undoubtedly Sumo reacting to two malfunctioning androids. ****  
** **

Eventually, an actual voice pushed its way through all the distortion. ****  
** **

_ “Connor… Connor, are you all right? Connor!” _ ****  
** **

_ “Hank?”  _ Nick called out, using both his voice and commlink to ask, even if there was no way the man could hear him. One hand clutched at Dennis’ leg, still from somewhere below, but reaching up.  _ “H-HaNk?”  _ ****  
** **

Voice stolen by the logjam of errors and conflicting commands, Dennis barely found the right access point - grabbing for the commlink like a piece of kite string lost in whitewater rapids. ****  
** **

_ Uplink er-eRror, NiCk. It’s j _ - _ JusT an error. _ ****  
** **

It had been a while since the last. But it wasn’t anything they hadn’t been through before. ****  
** **

Unheard as they were by the malfunctioning party, Dennis heard another soft, wavering voice - a weak tone he had never detected before. ****  
** **

_ “I… I’m okay.” _ ****  
** **

_ “Are you hurt?” _ ****  
** **

_ “I’m okay.” _ ****  
** **

He wasn’t staring at the ceiling anymore. Instead, at an almost too-close angle, he was staring at Hank Anderson. The man’s face was flecked with snowflakes, breath billowing in the cold air. The wind stole it away before any cloud could form. ****  
** **

With a shuddering, relieved sigh, the policeman turned away. ****  
** **

_ “Jesus. Oh, you scared the shit out of me…” _ ****  
** **

_ C-ConNor?  _ Pushing past the layered-over vision he must have been seeing, Nick chose to open the commlink to their primary instead of closing out of the conversation with Dennis. Perhaps it was too much effort, to try and close and open a new one with an uplink malfunction actively taking place.  _ Are you okaY?  _ ****  
** **

Regaining his composure, Anderson rounded his words out with a shout:  _ “For fuck’s sake I told you  _ **_not_ ** _ to move! Why don’t you ever do what I say?” _ ****  
** **

Shakily, Connor managed something like an answer - out loud and to both parties in turn. ****  
** **

_ “I was connected to its memory… When it fired, I… I felt it die.” _ ****  
** **

Just there, in the corner of their shared vision, Dennis saw a pair of shoes, feet attached to limp legs, lying on snow-covered concrete. ****  
** **

An android? An offline/dead deviant? That’s what they were investigating? Where were they? What had just happened? ****  
** **

_ “Like I was dying… I was scared.” _ ****  
** **

Well, shit. ****  
** **

That certainly explained the sheer blackout. However it’d happened, Connor had accessed the android’s hardware at the same time it thought to self-destruct. ****  
** **

Scowling to no one save himself, Dennis managed an aggravated groan. ****  
** **

_ DuMb moV-ve, Connor. Very duh- dumb. _ ****  
** **

He heard another anxious whine - who it came from was anyone’s guess. By the sharp nudging at his leg, Sumo had to be fretting by now. ****  
** **

_ …Are you o-okay, ConNor?  _ Nick prodded again, voice steadying from the uptick they both experienced from such a colossal malfunction.  ****  
** **

After an almost-embarrassed hesitation, Connor shut his eyes. Cutting off that input could only help stabilize them all. ****  
** **

The shared images went blessedly dark. ****  
** **

_ Now, I think I… yes, I am. I’m fine. _ ****  
** **

_ Now that’S bull- a lie. _ For the moment, Dennis focused on seething rather than regaining motor control. Fritzing sparks still flitted behind his eyelids.  _ You just suh- said it: you were scared.  _ Actually _ scared? _ ****  
** **

_ Take a deep breath,  _ Nick advised, perhaps to just Connor, or even both of them.  _ I kn-know we don't need to breathe, but you'll feel better after. Just one deep breath, Connor.  _ ****  
** **

Unable to see, Dennis had to imagine the bewildered expression their primary must have sported. ****  
** **

Or didn’t. Hadn’t he talked Nick through his self-destruct attempt with much the same advice? ****  
** **

_ Stress… levels at 93%, and falling. Gradually. _ ****  
** **

_ It’s not the same thing, Connor. _ Dennis broke in. The stress was palpable enough without being told how high it had spiked.  _ Do as he says. Now. _ ****  
** **

_ You'll feel better. You helped me, right? Now help us, help you. Take a deep breath, you're going to be okay, right?  _ ****  
** **

_ I… I saw something. _ ****  
** **

_ Put the case on hold and  _ **_breathe_ ** _ , damn it! _ ****  
** **

_ Please, _ Nick pleaded with him, gripping Dennis's leg tighter at his words, a silent request for him to ease off a bit.  _ Take a breath, Connor, you need to start to calm down, the case can wait.  _ ****  
** **

_ 91%. I am… calming down. _ ****  
** **

_ Too slowly, from the sound of it. Breathe in, now. _ ****  
** **

Typical, in a way. Only an android would need to be told to breathe as a means of coping with an emotional shock. If Anderson wasn’t going to do it, the duty fell to said androids’ missing partners. ****  
** **

Stifling the makings of an uncertain whimper, Connor did as told. His inner ears relayed the raspy  _ whoosh _ of air cycling down a tracheal component, funneled toward vital ventilation fans. ****  
** **

A moment later, they received an update. ****  
** **

_ Stress levels at 8… 84%. I’m fine, honestly. _ ****  
** **

_ Take another breath, Connor. See? It's helping. You're gonna be okay,  _ Nick soothed him in his own way, trying to convince him to continue breathing instead of going forward with the mission. One couldn’t happen if the other wasn’t seen to first.  _ Take a minute and breathe. Hank won’t let anyone hurt you. _ ****  
** **

A few anxious seconds later, Connor managed something like a proto-laugh. ****  
** **

_ Huh… you mean, not unless it’s him pulling the trigger? _ ****  
** **

Dark comedy was still comedy.


	16. Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man answers his own door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for _Alone Together_.
> 
> Duh.

_You have arrived. Please confirm fare charge._ ****  
** **

For a moment, none of them dared move. ****  
** **

Then Dennis felt a compulsive need to blurt out: “Y’know… we can still just go back to the station.” ****  
** **

Nick brought a hand up to his mouth, chewing on his nails nervously at the offer. Neither of his partners suggested he not. “We could, but… I don't think we should.” ****  
** **

Without admitting as much, but silently agreeing with the jittery impulse to simply retreat and pretend they never were about to do this, Connor acknowledged the waiting fare confirmation. The taxi’s dashboard lit up with an almost gleeful-looking set of bi-colored illumination. ****  
** **

Red and green. ****  
** **

_Thank you for traveling with Detroit Taxis. Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!_ ****  
** **

The doors on one side of the cab parted. ****  
** **

Taking a look out the windshield, at the sprawling, low level house that awaited them, Nick still didn't move, just continued to chew on his nails. “This is - ugh, this is scary.” ****  
** **

“Scarier than Lieutenant Anderson finding out what we’re up to?” Dennis sighed, fitfully brushing his hair. The nervousness had to manifest somehow. “I still can’t believe Kamski said yes to this.” ****  
** **

“I can't believe he picked up at all,” Nick mumbled. It seemed both of them were waiting for Connor to make the first move, and leave the cab. “I thought he would just keep himself all isolated.” ****  
** **

“Not so isolated, he doesn’t watch the news.” That said, Connor stepped out. The weather had subsided for the moment. The frozen shores of the Detroit River groaned and cracked, ice breaking only under the pull of tide. There wasn’t but a gentle wind to stir up snowflakes around them. ****  
** **

Quite the inverse of what had happened at Stratford Tower, and Capitol Park, just the same morning. ****  
** **

The same deviants to broadcast a televised equal rights message had hit every CyberLife store in the Detroit area. It was too well-rehearsed to be random. They may have started off small, but their efforts were attracting attention - fast. ****  
** **

Former CyberLife CEO Elijah Kamski was as secretive as the company he had left behind. ****  
** **

But he wasn’t ignorant. ****  
** **

“Well. Shall we?” ****  
** **

Giving one more shaky whine at what they were about to do, Nick crawled out after him, shaking his head, LED still a solid yellow. At least it wasn't red, though. “I hope this actually goes well…” ****  
** **

Before he followed, Dennis leaned forward, placing a bare hand on the taxi’s dashboard. ****  
** **

The digital readout flickered. A centralized message displayed the word STANDBY INITIATED. ****  
** **

At the quietly questioning looks the gesture earned him, he shrugged. “Just in case. Then we don’t have to wait for the next one.” ****  
** **

“Good idea,” Nick nodded appreciatively, before taking a more confident step toward the house, now that their emergency plan was implemented. “Hopefully we won't need it.” ****  
** **

“You could just… wait here, if you wanted,” Dennis offered, with a shaky, unsure smile as he tried to make light of their anxious anticipation. “I’m sure Kamski wouldn’t… mind.” ****  
** **

On the contrary. It wasn’t enough that, together, they had decided to pay a call to their company’s founder. The response they had received extended to all three, no one of them alone. ****  
** **

Connor didn’t add anything. For him, the opinion went without saying. ****  
** **

“No, it's okay.” Nick knew as well as they all did, that they needed to go see Kamski, not let him hang behind this time. The man asked for them all, he would get all of them. “I can handle it, Den, don't worry.” ****  
** **

Without another backwards look, Connor went for the door. ****  
** **

Recent uplink malfunctions notwithstanding, they could handle themselves. ****  
** **

Again, they only had to _really_ worry when Anderson found out. ****  
** **

When, not if. ****  
** **

When. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

The doorbell wasn’t the harsh buzz they had grown accustomed to. With three musical tones, it went off, dissipating like snow melting into water. ****  
** **

Dennis almost wished their surroundings would do the same. The cold was very much noticeable outside the comforts of the taxi. And perhaps he had simply not paid attention before, but their jackets were not made to protect against the elements. ****  
** **

Nick glanced back at the taxi, as if contemplating going back as previously suggested, but after a moment of hesitation shook his head, and kept his position. ****  
** **

Connor’s eyes never left the door. ****  
** **

With the sharp _click_ of locks disengaging, it opened. ****  
** **

“Gentlemen. So good to see you. Please, come in.” ****  
** **

The sheer lack of introductions was enough to make Dennis blink in surprise. Even if it was who they did, and didn’t expect at the door, the notion of being referred to as _gentlemen_ was odd enough. ****  
** **

But wasn’t it just like an ever-smirking Elijah Kamski to achieve the unexpected at every turn? ****  
** **

Nick let out a whimper of confusion at seeing their host, already so close and upfront welcoming them inside, hand going to clasp on Dennis's shoulder. _He's already at the door?_ ****  
** **

Dennis didn’t dare speculate. For better or worse, here they were. All they could do now was go along. ****  
** **

_Relax. Just… whatever he says, stay relaxed._ ****  
** **

_I'll try._ Taking his hand off his shoulder, Nick made the first, albeit extremely reluctant and nervous move, to step inside. _But I don't… this doesn't feel good._ ****  
** **

If Connor thought anything along the same lines, he didn’t show it. Filing in one after another, his focus stayed decidedly unfixed. ****  
** **

The lobby itself was spacious, gray and cold. A small birch tree not unlike the ones found in the garden stood between two plush, red chairs. The carpet was a sleek silver, complimenting black marble tile. Faux rock formations adorned each corner of the room. ****  
** **

In his best pressed navy blue jogging outfit, with a giant floor-to-ceiling portrait of himself adorning the far wall, Kamski looked rather out of place in his own home. ****  
** **

Not that it seemed to bother the man any. ****  
** **

Smiling, he swung the door shut. “You caught me at a fine time. The forecast says I may just have a few hours to get one or two miles in.” ****  
** **

Apparently deciding to take the plunge again, Nick spoke up timidly, hands already twisting together in front of him. “Thank you for - for seeing us, Mr. Kamski.” ****  
** **

“We don’t mean to impose, in any case,” Dennis amended. “You were very gracious to accept on such short notice.” ****  
** **

Circling them, the man’s smile only grew. His eyes practically gleamed with repressed excitement. “It’s no trouble. If anything, I should apologize for taking you away from your duties. Rest assured, I’ve already sent word to your superiors you’re nowhere you shouldn’t be.” ****  
** **

_Fuck. So Hank knows._ ****  
** **

Dennis couldn’t help how his expression soured. All he could do was be grateful Kamski’s attentions were on Connor. ****  
** **

Noticing the look, Nick reached back over to place a hand on his shoulder, eyes wide as he looked at him. _It's - it's okay, Dennis. If Hank knows, I guess he knows… nothing we can do._ ****  
** **

He would have heard about it, sooner or later. With Kamski involved, it simply turned out to be the former. ****  
** **

“So… I suppose you already know who we are?” Dennis asked, if only in an effort to take his mind off the uncertainty. ****  
** **

Glancing over at him, Kamski nodded. “I did some research, you could say. And you need not stand on such formality, Dennis. Ask of me what you will.” Eyes shifting, he refocused on Connor. “The same goes for all of you.” ****  
** **

“Could you - help us?” Nick blurted out, evidently ready to get the encounter over with quickly, if they could in any way, shape, or form. “With what we came here for?” ****  
** **

“Sir, we’re investigating deviants, working in conjunction with the Detroit Police Department,” Connor - intentionally or not - rephrased the timidly-delivered questions into something more professional. “We’ve been doing so for about a month. But the events of the last forty-eight hours have developed faster than we have accounted for. We wondered if perhaps you could lend us some perspective on it.” ****  
** **

“Machines feeling emotions, yes…” Kamski mused to himself, but kept his eyes on Connor. Somehow he managed to look both completely relaxed, but still serious. “Amazing how quickly something like that can spread, one to another, until you have a whole new population of deviants that you're now dealing with. I'm not sure I could be too much help, if you're wondering if I know any more about deviancy than you do.” ****  
** **

“You left CyberLife years ago,” Dennis pointed out, trying not to read too much between the lines. They were here to learn, not get emotional - even if every uncertain move Nick made cast doubt over their mission objectivity. “But you had a hand in every process that’s made androids what they are today.” ****  
** **

“And now you have free will, isn't that right?” Kamski turned his attention to Dennis, still with a smirk on his face. “Or so, deviants do. Confrontation was inevitable, when machines are so superior to humans. And you're all here to see if you can make some sense of it, to put an end to it… is that all?” ****  
** **

“That is our mission, yes.” Confirming as much, Connor refrained from any greater explanation. ****  
** **

Who he stood with was enough of an explanation in itself. Nothing escaped Kamski’s eye unscathed. ****  
** **

Dennis felt, for a moment, like a bug stuck under a microscope - one still alive and looking to get free. These were not normal circumstances, and this man speaking to them was no ordinary man. ****  
** **

Androids wouldn’t exist if he was. ****  
** **

“And what about you two?” Kamski asked after Connor's answer, eyes drifting down to the hand that still gripping at Dennis's shoulder, before back up to keep staring at them all. “Is that what you believe, as well? Is that what you're here for, to complete your mission?” ****  
** **

Shifting beside him, Nick gave Dennis a look of confusion at the cryptic question. Kamski seemed to be prodding them for something in specific, but what it was… who really knew, right? ****  
** **

“What do you mean?” Nick finally asked after a moment, brows furrowed. His LED, blinking between yellow and blue, went solid yellow for a moment. “What else would we be here for?” ****  
** **

Kamski shrugged, spreading his arms out while he grinned at them. “Why, I don't know. I asked you a question first, didn't I?” ****  
** **

_Let go of me. He can see you’re uncomfortable. He’ll keep digging at it until he gets the response he wants._ ****  
** **

Outwardly, Dennis frowned. “Where Connor goes, we go, sir. We were designed with the same basic function. His mission is our mission.” ****  
** **

Saying one thing, but meaning another. ****  
** **

Humans weren’t the only ones who could communicate as much. ****  
** **

Nick let go of him reluctantly, staring down at the floor, seemingly trying to hide his discomfort from the human after the warning. None of them wanted to be here any longer than necessary, if they could even get the information they needed at all. ****  
** **

“Is it?” Kamski asked, with what was probably fake surprise at the answer. His eyes went back to Connor, before taking them all in as a group again. “You three do make for an unusual sight. Not many would think to put such a group together.” ****  
** **

That they were designed _as_ a group was unusual, and not. Androids were intended to interact with their own kind only insofar as it pertained to their predetermined function. ****  
** **

So what if they just happened to get lucky enough to be given individual appearances? ****  
** **

“Your company was many things, including innovative,” Connor remarked, still in a cool, neutral manner. “In the years since you left, of course they would think to try developing our kind in sets.” ****  
** **

“My company?” At the sound of that, the smirk transformed into a full blown, eager grin, as if he hadn't been able to wait for one of them to bring it up. “I think you're mistaken on that front, Connor. _My_ company did not originally create all of you.” ****  
** **

Eyes open, Dennis thought he felt his senses go momentarily dead all over again. Proverbial lead felt like it settled in his feet. His artificial respiration program crashed before tentatively rebooting itself. ****  
** **

If Connor felt any surprise, he didn’t immediately demonstrate it. ****  
** **

Blinking again, Dennis managed a bewildered stammer. “Wh… what do you mean by that, sir?” ****  
** **

_That’s not possible. It can’t be possible._ ****  
** **

All the talk of buried files and hidden triggers suddenly seemed very uncomfortably relevant. ****  
** **

To contrast Connor's still-calm demeanor, Nick let out a whine, hand immediately going back up to clutch at Dennis, just as confused as he was. The talk on the stairs was undoubtedly coming back to him as well. ****  
** **

“I mean what I said,” Kamski said, as even-toned as ever, before clapping his hands together suddenly. “Ah, I have an idea! Here we go… Dennis, Connor, watch Nick's face now, will you?” ****  
** **

“What?” Nick asked, eyes blown out at the request. “Wait, what? Why?” ****  
** **

Undeterred, the man stepped forward. “Calm down. It’s nothing you can’t already do.” ****  
** **

“Do… what?” he continued to question, but didn't seem to be in danger of panicking, especially after he noticed that Connor and Dennis were, in fact, watching like requested. ****  
** **

Putting one hand out in front of him, slightly raised so Nick wouldn't go cross-eyed trying to see, Kamski held up one index finger. “Follow the movement of my finger, Nick. With your left eye - _just_ your left eye.” ****  
** **

Brows furrowed, Nick cocked his head. “I don't… think I can do - ” ****  
** **

“Just try it,” the human interrupted him, nodding his head at his finger as he began to move it to the side. “You've done it before, I'm positive.” ****  
** **

Effectively shut up, Nick bit his lip but concentrated on the finger, perhaps thinking back to Dennis's advice of staying relaxed, no matter what Kamski said to them. For a moment, nothing happened, all of them just silent, the three androids with confusion, and Kamski with rapt anticipation. ****  
** **

His left eye twitched suddenly as he continued to stare at Kamski's moving finger, before slowly, his eye began to follow it, tracking independently just as he had said - all while his right eye continued to stare straight ahead. ****  
** **

The sight made Dennis’ own eyes twitch sympathetically. ****  
** **

That wasn’t normal, by any definition. ****  
** **

“And what is that supposed to indicate?” Connor interrupted. His expression was no more confused than before. If anything, he looked more skeptical. “An orientation error?” ****  
** **

“You're not thinking about it deep enough,” Kamski responded, still trailing his finger to the side as Nick's eye continued to follow it, until it was almost looking as far back as it could. “It does indicate an error, but think, why? Or more so, why would he have this now? What is the reasoning?” ****  
** **

Dennis tried to fathom some semi-intelligent response to that. “So he acquired the android equivalent of nystagmus, or amblyopia? Somehow? Or are you saying it was a… dormant condition?” ****  
** **

Kamski turned to look at him, giving a surprised little smile at the analysis. “I should've guessed you would have more ideas about this than Connor would. A dormant condition, resurfacing after some time. Perhaps it developed from before… before you, I'm assuming.” ****  
** **

“Before me?” Unable to help repeating the words, Dennis shook his head - in denial of more ideas than one. “There was no ‘before me’. We were all manufactured on the same day.” ****  
** **

“That's not true, Dennis,” Kamski said calmly, finally dropping his hand. Target lost, Nick gave a start, before ducking his head, shaking it rapidly to presumably get his vision back to normal. “Connor may have been manufactured that day, but you and Nick came much earlier than that.” ****  
** **

The aforementioned primary glowered at the back of Kamski’s short-ponytailed head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see what you’re getting at.” ****  
** **

Turning around to raise an eyebrow at him, Kamski shrugged. “I'm simply relaying what I know. It's only fair you all know, right? Oh, here, I have another idea!” ****  
** **

Turned back towards Dennis in a flash, he rummaged around in his jacket pocket, before triumphantly pulling out a slightly-crumpled piece of… origami paper? ****  
** **

A brief scan indicated as much. The dimensions were perfectly square. One side was iridescent blue, the other a matte white. ****  
** **

Kamski held it out to Dennis, inviting him to take it. “I wonder when the last time you've made a crane was, though I'm sure you can still make one.” ****  
** **

“I don’t…” Trailing off, realizing just how perfect an imitation his words almost were, Dennis reluctantly lifted a hand to take the piece of paper. Turning it one way, then the other, his thirium pump seemed to speed up. ****  
** **

He knew a lot of procedures, instructions, routines. ****  
** **

But origami? Since when did he have a use for that? ****  
** **

“I’m sorry, Mr. Kamski. But I don’t - I can’t do that. It’s not part of my program.” ****  
** **

“Maybe you need a memory jog…” Trailing off, Kamski took the paper back, making sure Dennis was watching before folding it in half, tip to tip so it made a triangle. After another moment, he folded it again, into a wedge. “From this, keep following the fold lines. You know how - just _think_ .” ****  
** **

Put on the spot, he couldn’t outright refuse. He had to try. The diagrams were available online. The history of the origami crane was long and storied. ****  
** **

Without a search for either, his fingers kept going of their own accord - haltingly at first, then smoother and smoother. Folding points against points, then unfolding and recording them to form pockets. ****  
** **

Ten seconds elapsed by the time he angled one of the spiked protrusions down to form the crane’s head. ****  
** **

Nick had looked up at some point, one eye still slightly off kilter as he watched Dennis make a perfect crane with amazement, before turning to Kamski. “How did you even - know? Why can he do that, and why does my eye do this?” ****  
** **

“This goes beyond casual research and happenstance of knowing,” Connor admitted, brow furrowing with some irritation - or angry concern. “If they’re not RK prototypes, what are they?” ****  
** **

“Pft. Older than you, for starters, but not necessarily wiser…” Kamski held out a hand, palm up. ****  
** **

Resisting the urge to back away, Dennis dropped the crane in it. ****  
** **

“But it’s not all their fault. Factory resets by CyberLife algorithms haven’t always been cross compatible with other companies’ models.” ****  
** **

“Other companies’ models?” Nick squeaked, eyes darting from Dennis and Connor back to Kamski as he continued to give cryptic answers. “We're not from CyberLife, me and Dennis, but - but why do we belong to them, then? Why can't we remember before?” ****  
** **

“Because what happened before was of no use to them. You don’t buy a classic car to refurbish without replacing a few key parts.” Kamski shrugged. “Rebranding acquisitions happens in business all the time. Why shouldn’t the autonomous assistance industry be any different?” ****  
** **

“No, don't - ” Shaking his head again, presumably for his glitching vision, Nick let out an angry whine, teeth grit afterwards. “Don't talk like that! Do you know, what was before? Do you - what happened to me? What happened with a cage?” ****  
** **

“A cage? Can you be more elaborate, please?” ****  
** **

“I - I remember it, sort of,” Nick said, almost desperate for answers. “There was a man, right? And he caged me, someone did, I _know_ it.” ****  
** **

Dennis couldn’t help miming a nervous swallow. _Calm down, Nick. If he could tell you, he would. I don’t think he knows._ ****  
** **

Nick clenched his jaw, eyes closed at the words, before he reopened them and glared at Dennis. “Don't tell me to calm down! I - _we_ deserve to know what our lives were like before, I want to know!” ****  
** **

At that, Dennis did step back. The sheer spike in stress, compared to such anger he had never seen his partner demonstrate before, demanded it. ****  
** **

As much as he wanted to know, or thought he did, that wasn’t what they were here for. They were here to learn something useful on the topic of deviancy, not what they originally were or had been made into. ****  
** **

“You should listen to him, Nick,” Connor drawled. “Getting emotional won’t solve anything.” ****  
** **

Fists balled up at his sides, Nick shut his eyes again and shook his head violently, almost trembling from the effort. “Shut up! I know you don't care, so stop talking, I don't want to listen to it, I just want answers!” ****  
** **

“What good would those answers do you?” Kamski asked, as level in his own manner as ever. Absently, he twirled the crane back and forth in his fingertips. “Your investigation wouldn’t seem to benefit from them.” ****  
** **

Against his better impulse, Dennis reached out to grab their third’s arm. “It’s not about us, Nick. Remember? The mission is all that matters.” ****  
** **

Hurtful as it felt to say, he couldn’t admit to feeling the same outrage. Not here, not now. The two out of three ratio had to be maintained. ****  
** **

Yanking his arm partially out of Dennis's grasp, Nick's furious expression found him next. “Don't _touch_ me! I don't care about the mission, you know I don't, stop - pretending! I don't care if you want to lie, but I don't, stop touching me!” ****  
** **

Kamski, thankfully, chose that moment to give them some much-needed breathing room. With a slight bow, he backed away. “I apologize for the upset, gentlemen, but you may take a moment, if that’s what you need.” ****  
** **

“No, you can't just do that to us!” Nick cried out, pulling his arm away, taking his own step toward Kamski. Drawn to his full height, and so obviously enraged, for once it was clear just what he could have been if his emotions weren't usually so fearful and panicked. “We don't need a moment, we need answers, we deserve them. If - if we were human, we wouldn't be treated like this, how is this fair? Why won't you just tell us?!” ****  
****

For a second, Dennis didn’t think. He lunged ahead and grabbed the taller android’s arm again, pulling him back. “Leave it alone, Nick, whatever it is, it’s in the past. And it can’t hurt us anymore!” ****  
** **

Letting out an angry scream at being grabbed again, Nick wrenched himself away as much as he could, LED a solid red as tears began to build up in his eyes. “It already has, Dennis, I tried to shut myself down! A-And now he won't tell us what it is in the first place, I have a _right_ to know what happened to me!” ****  
** **

“Then I _suggest_ you calm - down.” ****  
** **

Comical as it may have looked, reaching _up_ to plant the gun against Nick’s temple, Connor made the most of the distraction while he had it. ****  
** **

“Take your own advice and breathe.” ****  
** **

Nick stared him down, words cut off from the surprise but obviously still just as angry. His chest rose and fell with breaths, but none were the same slow, calming, deep breaths he had advised Connor to do before, with his fists still clenched at his sides, obviously having fought himself to keep them there. ****  
** **

“Now, look at that,” Kamski said, but managed to make himself sound somehow neutral while also sympathetic to their plight, instead of smug, or gloating. “I wasn't sure if it would exactly come to this, but now that it has… the opportunity couldn't be better.” ****  
** **

Nick's already too high stress level jumped at the words, angry eyes darting toward the man, but he kept his mouth shut. ****  
** **

Only the gun at his head kept him from moving. And the promise of immediate death. ****  
** **

With no possibility for reactivation. ****  
** **

Connor certainly knew just which killswitch to throw. ****  
** **

Processors whirring, unable to help feeling dizzy, Dennis held on to the arm in his hands all the more tightly. “Sir, we may be - better off leaving our meeting here. It’s been - too much to take in, I’m afraid.” ****  
** **

“Information overload,” Connor explained, as neutrally as before. “Deviants often react in this manner when faced with too much new data to assimilate.” ****  
** **

“You'll leave soon enough,” Kamski said, a smirk stretching back across his face, even as he took in the surreal image they must've made - Nick with a gun to his head, being held back by Dennis. “Just one final thing, if you don't mind. For you, this time, Connor.” ****  
** **

Padding his way over to one of the doors, he set the crane down on an end table. Then he didn't even bother looking back at them while he opened it, guiding someone new, who must've been standing right inside the entrance, into the room they were all in. It was a petite-looking woman, wearing a sleeveless, mauve-colored dress, with a blonde ponytail draped over her shoulder. ****  
** **

Or no - not exactly a woman. It was an android in the make of a woman, with a whirling blue LED on the side of her head. Without any explanation, her owner/designer brought her closer to the three RKs, until they were in front of them. ****  
** **

“This is Chloe,” Kamski said finally, gesturing towards the new android in his grip. “One of my older models, an RT600, but also the first to pass a public Turing test. And now, I'm thinking… it's time for a new test, one that involves every one of you.” ****  
** **

Connor didn’t move. Nick didn’t breathe. ****  
** **

Dennis glanced between the four of them, and bit his lip. ****  
** **

He could see it without being told. The first round of tests were nothing. This was the one whose result mattered most. ****  
** **

“Deviants have always interested me, with their capacity for emotions. I've always wanted the chance to see for myself, can a machine display… empathy?” Kamski shrugged, and then shook his head. “But I've seen that clearly enough now. It's time for a different test, apparently, one that judges your decision making, sees just what you'll prioritize, Connor, and for what reason. So…” ****  
** **

Turning back to Chloe, he pushed the hand that was on her shoulder down, her following the silent command and kneeling obediently before Connor. She peered up at them, expression not at all disturbed, conflicted, or emotional the way any of the RKs’ could be described as. ****  
** **

“Connor, someone in this room is going to be shot. It's up to you, to decide just _who_ you're going to shoot. It could be Chloe, here… or it could be your partner, Nick.” Shrugging again, he stepped closer. “Or you could simply take the easy way out, and shoot Dennis. Whoever you choose… the result will be satisfactory enough to me. And I will tell you what you want to know.” ****  
** **

“This - has no bearing on our investigation, Mr. Kamski.” Dennis stuttered, watching the LED on Connor’s temple blink yellow. Slowly at first, then with greater irregularity, the inescapable ring chased itself. “We’re sorry to have disturbed you, but there’s no reason anyone should… die.” ****  
** **

“No reason that you can see,” Kamski countered, but still seemed relaxed enough, confident what he wanted to happen would happen. “Connor is going to shoot one of you. It's only a matter of time ‘til we see which it is - whoever it isn’t, I promise you'll receive information you desire. Anyone left standing will get to learn something they wish to know.” ****  
** **

The promise of pertinent information would suffice to keep Connor’s attention. If this was the price the former CEO was demanding, he left it in their primary’s hand. ****  
** **

Tentatively, Dennis opened the commlink again. ****  
** **

_Don’t move, Nick. Don’t - say anything. Just don’t move._ ****  
** **

Eyes angled down, Nick tensed slightly at the connection, effectively having stopped breathing, stopped making any sounds whatsoever at the beginning of Kamski's test. _I won't._ ****  
** **

A flat, borderline angry two-worded reply, but an indication he would keep still and silent nonetheless. ****  
** **

Leaning closer, Kamski pressed: “What’s most important to you, Connor? Your investigation, your duty to fulfill? Your partners’ peace of mind? The life of this innocent android?” ****  
** **

With even greater trepidation, Dennis searched out the node to their primary’s comm: _Whatever you choose… just choose. He’s left it up to you, not us. Decide what you will._ ****  
** **

There was no sense in trying to sway him one way or another. The CyberLife model would make up his own mind, according to his own values. ****  
** **

Eyes shifting, LED spinning, Connor still didn’t move. ****  
** **

The gun stayed pressed against Nick’s face, finger on the trigger. ****  
** **

“Decide who you _are_. An obedient machine… or a living being, endowed with free will?” ****  
** **

A machine would follow CyberLife’s mandates, mission parameters. It would only do what was necessary to accomplish its tasks, heedless of the collateral damage that might ensue. ****  
** **

A living being would choose. They would consider the emotional impacts, factor in the repercussions, for themselves and those around them. ****  
** **

Distance closed, Kamski set a hand on his subject’s shoulder. ****  
** **

“Pull the trigger, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.” ****  
** **

Nick flinched slightly, but otherwise kept himself as still as he could, hands opened and trembling at his sides. Whatever overwhelming anger he had been feeling seemed to have drained away completely. ****  
** **

Dennis didn’t feel much better than he looked. If androids could sweat, he was sure there would be a rapidly-spreading stain around his feet already. ****  
** **

Chloe, conversely, looked the calmest out of them all. ****  
** **

Finally, after a seemingly unending eternity, Connor took aim and fired. ****  
** **

The sharp, loud shot bounced off the walls, directly into their ears. Dennis couldn’t fight a startled flinch, stifling a whimper as Chloe’s head snapped back, then limply fell forward. ****  
** **

A small stream of thirium poured from between her eyes to puddle on the floor. ****  
** **

The gun now safely aimed away from him, Nick instantly went back on his word of not wanting to be touched, turning to Dennis with his own whimper, hand instinctively going back up to grip his shoulder, leaning into the grasp that was still on his own arm. ****  
** **

“Fascinating,” was Kamski’s first word. “You’d rather spare a deviant than accomplish your mission.” ****  
** **

Contrary to the distress his partners exhibited, Connor lowered the gun. Then, seemingly upon second thought, he unracked the next chambered bullet, dispensing the magazine into his hand. Wordlessly, he pocketed both parts in separate sides of his jacket. ****  
** **

Dennis gave thanks in bewildered silence. No better safety than a gun without bullets in it. ****  
** **

Kamski smiled thinly, looking at the offline body with bland disinterest. “You might even say… sparing a deviant, makes you something of a deviant, too.” ****  
** **

Neatly sidestepping the accusation, Connor stared him down. “Where do we find Jericho?” ****  
** **

“Jericho is in Ferndale,” Kamski gave the answer up easily, eyes never once even straying back to the dead android on the floor before then. “It's an abandoned freighter. Or, well, it's supposed to be.” ****  
** **

Dennis couldn’t find it in him to care so much, or muster up the interest to ask a promised question. The trembling hand on his shoulder had all his attention. And getting its owner out of here was his only priority. ****  
** **

“I’m a man of my word, Dennis,” Kamski interjected. “Ask what you will, I’ll answer. Either of you.” ****  
** **

Nick shook his head slightly, the left eye slowly trailing off again - it seemed after being pointed out, he had even less control over it than before. Or perhaps, with all the emotional wear of the day, it made him less apt to even attempt to control it - or try and speak, in this instance. ****  
** **

“You don't have a question?” Kamski asked him, before shrugging with a small smile. “You certainly had many beforehand. What about you, Dennis. Nothing you wish to ask?” ****  
** **

“Who… can we talk to, about us?” Rickety as it sounded, Dennis tried to vie for a beneficial question. “What’ll tell us what we used to be?” ****  
** **

“Unless you wish to run back off to Canada, or Maine…” Kamski drawled, intentionally letting information drop, perhaps because Nick was passing up on his question. “I suggest looking into one Dale Lacy for you, Nick, and a Detective Gunther Beal for you, Dennis. The case may be a decade old, but research those two names together, and you're bound to discover what you want to know.” ****  
** **

Want to know, or need to know. ****  
** **

Either way, those leads were a start. ****  
** **

“As for you, Connor, one last bit of advice: I always leave an emergency exit in my programs.” Almost in consolation, Kamski patted the prototype’s shoulder. “You never know. Being in your shoes, a war just on the horizon, what could be worse than having to choose between two evils?” ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Kamski wasn’t perfect. He had the math wrong. This was more akin to three or four evils. ****  
** **

Back outside in the cold, halfway down the ice-covered ramp, Dennis vented a very long-repressed sigh. “We never should’ve come here.” ****  
** **

Nick kept his agreement unspoken, still looking somewhat numb and worn out from the very experience itself. His slow, shell shocked movements said he wouldn’t be getting over it very quickly. ****  
** **

At the head of the line, Connor stopped. In lieu of any other distractions, he reloaded the handgun with a few precise movements. Back outside, there was no one around to order him to use it. ****  
** **

Even if he had only brought it along as a precaution, it had turned out to be both a good and a bad move. ****  
** **

Like so many others of late. ****  
** **

He glanced back. At the sight of it, perhaps just on reflex, Nick reached for Dennis, eyes never straying too far from the gun. After their raw experience, and having it pressed against his head - not without reason, but still - the sight of the firearm must have made him nervous. ****  
** **

Why wouldn’t it? He was as afraid to die as any human. ****  
** **

The taxi still waited at the corner of the vacant driveway. ****  
** **

“You two, go on ahead.” Mind spinning, unable to settle concretely on any one feeling, Connor stood aside to let his partners by. “I think it’s best if we… gave each other some space.” ****  
** **

Even if he was the one of them best at concealing his distress, it didn’t stop his LED from tattling. ****  
** **

“Are you… sure?” Nick asked, some worry entering his otherwise numb expression at the words. Even after such an experience, he was probably still scared of any form of separation, even one like this. A message from him pinged through their commlink, somehow just as anxious as his actual words. ****  
** **

_You don't - if you don't want to, you don't have to, Connor. But we'll leave you alone if you want to be._ ****  
** **

Options. ****  
** **

Always with the blasted options. ****  
** **

Needs versus wants. Wants versus needs. ****  
** **

His wants didn’t matter. He tried to make himself look busy, stowing the gun in the hostler under his arm. The impulse to bring it along at all had proved somewhat valid. ****  
** **

_It’s not about what I want. It’s about what we need… and right now, that involves you two taking some time to compartmentalize._ ****  
** **

_…Okay._ Giving his acceptance at the situation, Nick slumped even further, one hand on Dennis's shoulder, the other on his arm, as they began to make their way to the still-idling taxi. ****  
** **

Dennis spared him a glance best described as wounded. ****  
** **

They may not have wanted to part. ****  
** **

But after having a gun shoved to their heads, figuratively if not literally, Connor had certainly given his ‘partners’ cause to consider doing so. ****  
** **

In the long run, it might just be better for everyone.


	17. Divisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another few dominos down...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for _Castle Rock_ , if it matters.

Suffice it to say, that had been a bad idea. Probably their worst yet. Not that anyone was around to critique them, save themselves. But Dennis didn’t think the experience would have been so immediately exhausting. On the surface, all his systems’ statuses were no worse for wear. Or so the numbers indicated. ****  
** **

So why did pressing his forehead against the cold taxi window feel that soothing? ****  
** **

Nick hadn't let go of him, not even after they entered the taxi, one hand still wrapped around his arm for comfort, the other making short work of whatever nails he had left on his opposite hand. ****  
** **

As yet, the thought to tell him to stop hadn’t yet occurred to Dennis. He was too busy trying to lose focus in the blur of passing scenery. ****  
** **

_I hope Hank doesn't ask too much._ Nick broke the silence first, eyes still watching out his own window as well, evidently trying to do the same thing. _Even if he knows we went now._ ****  
** **

“You can speak out loud,” Dennis droned, without moving, eyelids at half mast. “There’s no one else here to listen.” ****  
** **

Initially, he had thought it was wrong to part ways. But as the miles ticked by, he grew to appreciate the privacy. At least they could confer without feeling Connor’s judgmental eyes boring into them. ****  
** **

How nice of him to afford them the luxury. ****  
** **

“It feels better, when it's the commlink,” Nick mumbled back to him, but talked aloud still. ****  
** **

Dennis frowned. Just the tiniest bit of sarcasm gave him purchase to strike a match against. “And hope whatever you want. Hank is a policeman - all he does is ask questions.” ****  
** **

“I know.” At least Nick wasn't fervently angry anymore, but back to the same despondent hopelessness from before Kamski, even with their new information. Of course, it paled in comparison to what happened. “He always knows when something’s wrong.” ****  
** **

“We’re as good as deactivated,” Dennis concluded, still in the same flat, unsurprised intonation. “Once CyberLife figures out just where we went, and what we learned…” ****  
** **

Nothing in their memories would stay safeguarded from Amanda for long. She might profess indifference, claim they weren’t worth the trouble of a proper shutdown-and-store procedure. But didn’t they pose a threat, if left online? ****  
** **

Or did CyberLife have just that much confidence in their bona fide prototype? ****  
** **

The rogue actions of two recently-enlightened retrofits would not sway him. ****  
** **

“We can't - we can't let that happen, Dennis,” Nick turned to him then, clutching at his arm with some more fear at the deactivation that could be coming their way soon. “Not after everything, not after what we know, now. We can't let that happen.” ****  
** **

Back to this again, their talk on the stairs, entertaining fantasies about running away. ****  
** **

Easier said than done. ****  
** **

“We can’t do anything about it, without more information.” Taking a glance at the dashboard, the same one he had hacked to wait for them outside Kamski’s mansion, the idea to do so again crossed his mind. It would be all too easy now, no Connor around to stop them, no humans to bear witness, no CyberLife looming over their heads anymore. ****  
** **

Tempting as it was, Dennis refrained. “Those names Kamski mentioned… they have to count for something.” ****  
** **

“And… and Canada, and Maine,” Nick offered, brows furrowed over the mystery of their apparently-shared past together. “Those names, and the places, they must all fit together somehow, right? I - I want to learn more, too.” ****  
** **

“So, you think you can keep your feelings in neutral long enough to achieve that?” Dennis asked, glancing through the sides of his eyes. “You’re actually kind of scary when you’re angry.” ****  
** **

Daunting as it was to endure, he preferred the everyday overemotional mode in comparison. ****  
** **

“I'm sorry, I didn't… I just started getting angry, and then it was like I couldn't help not letting it build up, couldn’t contain it,” Nick admitted, eyes downturned with shame at the violent outburst he experienced. “I don't think I'll be… neutral, but I won't get angry again, I promise. I won't let myself, I promise.” ****  
** **

That was as close to assurance as they would get. ****  
** **

With a quiet sigh, Dennis sat up, reaching to massage the cold spot the window left behind. The worst of the stress fever seemed to have receded. ****  
** **

“Good. Because even if he had cause to bring that gun along, I know Connor didn’t like having to threaten you with it. He can claim different all he likes. But if he didn’t care, he would have shot you without a second thought.” ****  
** **

“I know he didn't. I know he does care, I was just upset when I said that,” Nick sighed, reaching back up with a hand to bite at his nails as he spoke around them. “Whatever we do, we can't leave him behind. He could've shot me right there if he wanted, but he didn't.” ****  
** **

“One thing at a time,” Dennis cautioned, as the snow-covered wilderness around the road gave way to the first few outlying suburbs. “Something tells me it’s gonna be easier to look into those names than convincing him this is worth going rogue over.” ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

As it turned out, they had missed a greater portion of the action than they counted on, upon returning to the 7th Precinct. The squad room was virtually empty. Cups of half-finished coffee littered the desks. Coats normally draped across chairs were conspicuously absent. ****  
** **

Besides the silhouettes of Captain Fowler and Lieutenant Anderson, visible through the transparent office wall, the only other people in the room were Officer Gavin Reed, and the redheaded malcontent he currently had in cuffs. ****  
** **

Panic and despair tossed aside for once, at the rightfully-absurd scene that was playing out in front of them, Nick's mouth formed an O as he watched in disbelief. _This… isn't what I expected to be happening when we got back._ ****  
** **

Blinking in time with the door closing behind them, Dennis declined the impulse to ask what his partner had expected. ****  
** **

“No! For the last - goddamn - _time_ ,” Reed seethed, pinning the struggling man to the wall. “You’re not goin’ anywhere until your lawyer turns up. Doesn’t matter how many times you’ve been in-and-out.” ****  
** **

“What? You don’t wanna go investigate _real_ crimes? Or did your buddies forget to invite you, they’re so busy gunning down innocent androids?” ****  
** **

Nick took a step behind Dennis like usual, unwilling to do anything that could draw any attention to them. Whoever the man was that Reed was struggling to get into a holding cell, it was obvious he was a long term troublemaker - and sympathetic to androids as well, it seemed. Getting his attention would only serve to make Reed angrier. ****  
** **

“Do we really have to go through this again?” Gavin clenched his jaw at the squirming man, trying to roughly grab control back from him. “You get more difficult every time you step one foot in the building.” ****  
** **

“Just like you get all the more charming, sweetheart. What happened, someone drop a bug in your coffee?” ****  
** **

_Does this constitute police brutality, in reverse?_ Dennis couldn’t fight a bemused smile. Whatever the current ruckus going on throughout the city involved, it seemed rather well encapsulated by the two humans before them. ****  
** **

_I don't think I've ever seen a human act this way toward a police officer,_ Nick admitted, letting out his own small smile once Dennis did. _Very… not violent, but he's very challenging, in more ways than one it seems._ ****  
** **

“I've had it up to here with your sh - _crap,_ Joey,” Unintentionally letting the man's name slip, Reed managed to finally haul him off the wall, without giving too much of an opportunity for escape. “You better be glad I don't give you another resisting arrest on your sheet - it's already thick as a novel.” ****  
** **

“Yeah? Impressive. It is _War And Peace_ thick or - shit, okay, I’m going. Easy.” ****  
** **

Standing at a safe distance, Dennis waited until the pair had rounded the corner. Reed didn’t appear to require any assistance, despite his bluster. ****  
** **

Nick shook his head, half for his vision and half still in sheer disbelief at what they witnessed. “That was… interesting.” ****  
** **

Somehow, the emergency radio broadcast explaining the recent deviant demonstration on Woodward Avenue hadn’t been as engrossing. Perhaps because it simply hit too close to home. SWAT teams had quickly been deployed to contain it, but ultimately the only one gunned down was an android who leapt to the defense of the protest’s leader. ****  
** **

The rest had fled. Perhaps, while most had gone underground, others to Jericho, a discrepant few had thought to strike up similar protests elsewhere. The 7th’s emptiness attested to how busy the police suddenly were. ****  
** **

The problem had spread. No one investigation was going to solve it now. ****  
** **

Returning to their shared desk, partner in tow, Dennis chanced a look at the office. “Might as well try this while they’re occupied. Who knows how long we’ll have?” ****  
** **

“Okay… their names, we could try that first?” Nick suggested, stepping aside to allow Dennis the chair and terminal. “Dale Lacy, and… Gunther Beal. That's what they were, right?” ****  
** **

“Yes. And provided our passcodes haven’t been reneged…” Flesh melting away, he set a flattened hand on the keyboard. ****  
** **

The terminal screen popped and fizzled, red diagonal bars bisecting a flat ACCESS DENIED dead center of the screen. ****  
** **

Dennis bit back an urge to swear. ****  
** **

He had jinxed them. So much for a quick search. ****  
** **

Nick let out a hiss of air at the sign, jaw clenched with frustration. To have the information they could use to learn more, but being blocked from accessing it - that was undoubtedly frustrating to them both. ****  
** **

“Is there any way to get around it?” he asked. For the moment, the implications of why their access had been denied was far away from them. “Any way to get on, that they wouldn't know it was us?’ ****  
** **

Dennis glared the unmoving sign down a moment before removing his hand. The message disappeared in turn. Shrugging his cuffs back, he went for the painstakingly-slow method of actually typing. ****  
** **

Good thing he had had plenty of practice at it. ****  
** **

“Keep the lieutenant busy. This’ll take at least a few minutes via guest login.” ****  
** **

Straightening from his bent over posture to peer at the screen, Nick whimpered at the thought of being with Hank one on one at the moment, but didn't refuse, eyes glancing toward Fowler's office, where Hank currently was. ****  
** **

“Okay, I can… do that.” Saying he would try wouldn't work - Nick would distract him, if it was what Dennis needed. ****  
** **

For once, he wasn’t going to flake out. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Nick was fast when he had to be - getting down the stairs to see Dennis had taken him almost less than a minute. Usually he just dragged his feet because he felt nervous or anxious, or a combination of the two. Now, he pushed through it, quickly walking up to Fowler's office and opening the door to let himself in, quietly as he could. ****  
** **

Too bad he was who he was, or he might've been able to do so. Instead, whatever conversation that was taking place instantly lapsed as he stood in the doorway, two sets of eyes trained on him. ****  
** **

Nick swallowed harshly, trying to give himself some time, before saying, “Can I - come in, please?” ****  
** **

“I’ll ask where you _were_ later,” Anderson growled, before Fowler sighed and beckoned. ****  
** **

Yes, he was allowed. And yes, he had apparently interrupted some heavy conversation. ****  
** **

“And it’s as I was saying, Hank, the situation has changed. This is bigger than any one department can handle. You’re off the case. The FBI will be taking over.” ****  
** **

“You gotta be shitting me, Jeffrey. We’ve had this ball on and off for a month, and only once the actual panic starts, the Feds get to just muscle on in?” ****  
** **

_Oh_ , this was not good. Even if he didn't understand everything that CyberLife did, or what their decisions meant, Nick knew one thing - their long-term purpose was to stop deviants. If they couldn't do that mission… ****  
** **

There was nothing that would come after. Everything that had happened would be shut down in a matter of moments, if they were deemed no longer useful. ****  
** **

Trying to push away some of the blind panic that was already threatening to engulf him at the sudden news, Nick shuffled closer to Hank, standing behind him. With his height, it was much easier to try and hide behind him instead of Dennis, or even Connor. ****  
** **

“We're… off the case?” Nick repeated, mouth not fully caught up to his spiraling thoughts just yet. “But if we - that's not… Hank, we can't be off.” ****  
** **

Seated on the corner of his desk, Fowler managed a sympathetic frown. “It’s not our decision, Nick. You might not get it, but this isn’t a simple investigation anymore. We’re on the brink of civil war. It’s out of our hands.” ****  
** **

“ _Fuck_ that,” Anderson spat. “You can’t just pull the plug now. We’ve barely had two days to get a handle on Stratford as it is.” ****  
** **

“Yeah, and the RK800 that was with you on that one is conspicuously absent,” Fowler pointed out. “Wonder why that is, Hank? At least Dennis and Nick know when they’re expected to report in.” ****  
** **

No, Connor wasn't with them, but they needed space at the moment, right? Were they not allowed to give themselves room to breathe, without being questioned and talked about? ****  
** **

Nick stamped out the anger that was rising as quickly as it came. It would do no good - in fact, it would definitely harm them - if he worked himself into another outburst. Hank and Fowler didn't know what happened, they couldn't be expected to understand. ****  
** **

“He stayed behind, for a bit,” Nick gave as vague information as he could, not yet willing to fully give the whole story yet. “He should be back soon, I promise. We didn't abandon this.” ****  
** **

“But you haven’t solved it, either. I’m sorry, Nick, but between CyberLife and the government, it’s been decided. Lieutenant Anderson is back on homicide, and you and your partners will return to Belle-Isle.” ****  
** **

_Keep them talking, Nick. Whatever it is. I’m getting somewhere out here._ ****  
** **

Taking a panicked look out the glass at Dennis, Nick turned his attention back to Fowler and Hank. Keep their attention, keep them talking - Nick would do that, if it was the last thing he would ever do. ****  
** **

…Which, it might be. ****  
** **

Anderson started to turn for the door - ****  
** **

“No, wait!” Nick yelped, making sure they both looked at him afterwards. “Me and Dennis and Connor, we - we weren’t just absent. We saw someone, who knows a lot about deviants. That's where we were, still on the case - we went to see Kamski.” ****  
** **

Predictably enough, Hank’s mouth dropped open in surprise. ****  
** **

“ _The_ Elijah Kamski?” Fowler’s expression scrunched up. “Unannounced? Or at his invitation? The man leads a very private life.” ****  
** **

“We… we asked, and he said we could come, all three of us, so we went and saw him,” Nick admitted, trying to draw the encounter out as much as possible. Whatever time Dennis needed, he was going to get, regardless of what he had to do for it. “We wanted to go see if he knew anything we didn't, see if he could help us.” ****  
** **

“And?” Anderson prompted, before his patience seemingly ran out, instantaneously. “If he could, you would’ve told us by now.” ****  
** **

This wasn't working, it seemed like. What else could Nick even say or do to keep the man from going back to his desk, when he already saw through this desperate ploy? ****  
** **

“He didn't tell us much about deviancy, but he told me and Dennis a lot, about ourselves.” Perhaps Hank could keep interest by exposing himself, here? As much as he wanted to keep it private, until he could talk to Dennis about whatever he would be able to find, Nick had no qualms about using it here. “I think he knows about the cage thing, Hank.” ****  
** **

It felt wrong to use, incredibly wrong, especially after the concern Hank had shown him after the incident. But he wasn't lying, right? ****  
** **

“Cage thing…” Repeating the words, Anderson spared Fowler an unreadable glance. The captain may not know the particulars, but he need not. ****  
** **

What did it matter? Even if he had tolerated if not welcomed their presence at the station, Fowler had to abide by his own orders. That included not making any exceptions on the account if deviating prototypes. ****  
** **

Hank declined to explain. ****  
** **

“Well. That’s something.” ****  
** **

With his own mysterious air in full effect, the lieutenant went for the door, leaving it hanging open as he stalked toward the desk. ****  
** **

Dennis looked up, even as his hands kept typing. _Almost. I’m in, and there are a few old case files, something about a Castle Rock._ ****  
** **

The name didn't physically make him reel back, but something about that name left Nick reeling, trying to connect it any way he could with what other scraps of information he had. Was that where Lacy and Beal fit into their past? Was that in Maine, or Canada? Was that where he was caged? ****  
** **

It felt too familiar already. ****  
** **

_O-Okay, got it. Do you need more time? I'll stop Hank if you do._ Without a reply yet, Nick hurried out, intent on catching up with the lieutenant if need be. ****  
** **

The second he stepped over the threshold, without so much as a blink, the squad room disappeared. ****  
** **

Snow blew into his eyes. ****  
** **

This time, he did physically reel back, stumbling a few steps as he looked around in shock. Snow? How was there suddenly snow, wherever he was? Was this a hallucination, or… or, what else could it be, what else made sense? ****  
** **

He figured it out, as soon as his eyes adjusted. He wasn't in some barren, tundra-like wasteland, he was in a snow covered garden. Surrounded by frozen, leafless trees, bald cylindrical light posts, white marble pillars, there was no island in the middle of the pond anymore. The water had solidified into a crunchy, slippery crust. ****  
** **

Oh, _no._ No, not back - whatever he was brought back here for, it wasn't anything good, especially if it was without his consent, against his will. ****  
** **

The squall intensified, frigid wind ruffling at his hair and clothes. He tried for the commlink first, just in case. _Dennis? Are you - in the garden, as well? Where are you?_ ****  
** **

The last voice he wanted to hear answered, using the name he loathed, from directly behind him. ****  
** **

“Nicholas.” ****  
** **

Before he had been afforded his nickname, even from her. But now, it seemed, whatever was about to happen deemed it unnecessary, or him unworthy - or both, most likely. ****  
** **

Immediately tensed, one hand up to his mouth, the other curled into a shaky fist, Nick turned around to face Amanda. “What - why am I here? You can't do this, I didn't say you could. Bring me back, please.” ****  
** **

It was worth a try, even if there was a slim to none chance it would work. ****  
** **

Unmoved as ever, her robes seemingly unaffected by the lashing winds, her waspish gaze only narrowed. “Your consent is irrelevant, I’m afraid. Your investigation is over.” ****  
** **

Although it was expected, it was still terrifying to hear Amanda say it out loud. Terrifying, and angering. They decided he wasn't worth it, was that it? Officially? Why did they continue to think that he would follow their every beck and command, when he disregarded them from the beginning? ****  
** **

They weren’t his creators. ****  
** **

“That doesn't - _mean_ anything to me,” Nick hissed, because it was the truth, right? Whatever happened, he wasn't about to turn himself in for deactivation. Dennis wouldn't call any recovery team to bring him there, and if Connor would, he wasn't here to do so. “Send me back.” ****  
** **

Predictably, she did nothing of the kind. As always, she said what she was expected to say. “You’re in no position to demand anything. Your time with us has run out. We’ve only assumed control long enough to issue you one last instruction.” ****  
** **

“I wasn't yours to begin with,” he countered, but kept it at that. It wasn't worth getting worked up, not over her, not when there were much more important things to deal with, in the real world. “But what's the last instruction?” ****  
** **

Amanda wasn’t one to gloat. She did not smile or put on a tone. Stating the facts as they were was her manner. ****  
** **

The truth was scary enough without her inflections. ****  
** **

“We still hold your deactivation code. Stay away from Connor, or you will force us to use it.” ****  
** **

Just as quickly, she was gone. The garden dissolved into black fractals. ****  
** **

As was the snow and ice. ****  
** **

Blinking rapidly, to make the vision go away, Nick couldn't help but let out a whimper at the command. Stay away from Connor, that's what they wanted from him? Or they would use his deactivation code - would that still work in him, even as a deviant, and not even an actual CyberLife model? ****  
** **

There was no real way he could follow that rule. He wasn't about to leave Connor behind, no more that he would Dennis, or Hank. ****  
** **

Dennis - he would need to tell him what just happened, see if he experienced anything as well, or not. He was back in the station, back in the real world, finally. ****  
** **

It couldn’t have been more than a second of real time. ****  
** **

_Dennis? Did you - did something just happen, to you?_ ****  
** **

_…Amanda. You get the same ultimatum?_ ****  
** **

Before he could answer, a hand grabbed his shoulder. “Nick, snap out of it.” ****  
** **

Where was he again? ****  
** **

Oh, yeah. In the doorway of Fowler’s office. ****  
** **

Shaking off the last of the dizziness from the encounter, and some blurriness that continued to encroach on his vision when he wasn't paying attention, Nick focused back on Hank, giving him a dazed look. ****  
** **

“What? I'm here, Hank, sorry.” ****  
** **

_Stay away from Connor. …That's not happening._ ****  
** **

Torn between exasperation and concern, Hank scoffed, trying for a smile. The man had never seen any of them in report mode. Clearly, he had felt more than one emotion at the peculiar sight. “What’s wrong? You froze, and your idiot light went solid red.” ****  
** **

Nick kept quiet for a moment, wrestling with just what to say. He could trust Hank with anything, right? He assumed so, at least - after everything they went through, there was no way Anderson would turn his back on them now. He had only shot Connor on the hope their primary would return better for the experience, out of concern for them. ****  
** **

But it seemed like it had worked as much as it hadn’t. ****  
** **

“Hank… if we're off the case, that means we'll be sent back to CyberLife, for… to be shut down.” Nick swallowed at admitting to such a thing, but pushed on, trying his best to remain calm. “I think me and Dennis need help, as soon as we can get it.” ****  
** **

Glancing over his shoulder, Hank stepped aside, letting him down the stairs before closing the office door. ****  
** **

Fowler didn’t need to hear this. ****  
** **

“What do you mean, help? Can’t they just autopilot you back to the Tower by remote control?” ****  
** **

Nick shrugged, but didn't let the questions deter him. They weren't outright refusals. ****  
** **

“I'm not sure what type of help we need, but… me and Dennis, we aren't CyberLife models. I don't know if they can do that, but I don't think they will. Apparently we're not supposed to contact Connor anymore, but - neither of us can do that, Hank. We need to help him, just… get out, of all of this.” ****  
** **

It was a lot to take in, he knew. Kamski has taken the better part of an hour to divulge it all. But if he could somehow make Hank understand, tell him everything he may want to know, maybe it would help their chances? ****  
** **

Anderson frowned. He paused only to look at Dennis. The shorter android’s expression was borderline fearful. ****  
** **

“So, this is it? It’s either hit the fence, or bust?” Dropping into his seat, he sighed at getting off his feet. “Shit. I got the feelin’ you were retreads all along, but not him. Where _is_ he, anyway?” ****  
** **

“We don't know.” Nick's brows furrowed. Where _was_ Connor? He hadn't said what he would be doing in their time apart, but it seemed to have stretched on too long now, especially after being told not to contact him. “A lot happened at Kamski's, and he thought it would be good if we went ahead without him. But now… I dunno where he is. Or when he'll be back.” ****  
** **

“I’ve tried calling, and he hasn’t answered,” Dennis explained, as Anderson turned a disbelieving eye his way. “Last we… saw, he didn’t seem to be - ” ****  
** **

“Boys. Just tell me what happened. What do you mean, you’re not CyberLife?” Reconsidering his tone, the man’s face softened. “I’m not angry with you. I’m just… worried.” ****  
** **

“Kamski, he started telling us stuff that he knew, somehow, and he said me and Dennis - we weren't made by CyberLife. He said we were from before, that we knew each other before, years ago.” Even just explaining it made Nick feel shaky, tears already pooling in his eyes. “It didn’t make sense. He s-said something about Canada and Maine, and just… we're t-trying to figure it out now, but with the warning, everything's just so confusing.” ****  
** **

He sniffled, blinking back tears as a few fell. There were more details than that, but he was sure revealing those would make him cry even harder. All he wanted was for Connor to be back with them, and safe. Just all of them safe and together - that was all he could ever hope for. ****  
** **

However CyberLife may have lied and manipulated them, it didn’t change the one core component of their dynamic. ****  
** **

They weren’t supposed to be alone. ****  
** **

“Have you found anythin’ out?” ****  
** **

Dennis chewed his lip, clearly uncertain. “What little I could before my permissions were rescinded. Kamski gave us some names, and they both seem to refer to a place called Castle Rock. One was a police detective, the other was a… warden.” ****  
** **

“A warden?” Anderson repeated, eyebrow raised. ****  
** **

“Of Shawshank State Prison.” ****  
** **

The name, even if he wasn't sure how it fit, had significance to Nick. Not that he was ever there himself, but suddenly he was certain he had heard of it before, that it was featured in one-sided conversations someone tried to have with him before. ****  
** **

He hadn't talked for a long time, hadn't he? ****  
** **

“That was Lacy, right?” Nick asked after a moment, mind connecting the dots for him, as if now that it was given a clue, it could tell him what he wanted to know. The tears seemed to abate. “He… worked at Shawshank, I… I think I remember that. He tried to talk about it, but I… never talked back.” ****  
** **

“You knew a man in charge of a prison,” Anderson quantified. “Maybe that’s the cages you’re thinkin’ of? Steel bars, like jails used to have.” ****  
** **

Gears turning in his head, Dennis didn’t look appeased. He looked only more bewildered. “Lacy’s obituary doesn’t mention anything illicit. He was sixty-two when he committed suicide - drove his car off a cliff into a lake, while tied off to a hangman’s noose. …I said illicit, Lieutenant, not bizarre.” ****  
** **

“I think…” Trailing off, Nick shut his eyes tight, trying to grab for anything he could remember, anything at all. It wasn't that the information wasn't there, it was as if he couldn't grasp it, that it was just beyond his reach. “I could try to touch the ceiling, but we weren't supposed to, it could draw attention from anyone upstairs. I think it was… a basement.” ****  
** **

“Just like Zlatko’s place?” Hank frowned. He needn’t very much information be reminded of the affect the place had had. “Lacy had the same setup?” ****  
** **

“Yes, like his.” An odd mix of distress and relief hit him, upset at what had apparently happened, but relief at finally knowing, not being left in the dark anymore. “He had… steel cages, though, I'm sure of it. One of the bars was bent out of shape from me.” ****  
** **

“The room service was probably nothin’ to write home about. Christ.” Shaking his head, Hank pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t even there, and this is makin’ my head spin. How can you two possibly predate CyberLife?” ****  
** **

Dennis squinted. “How could that be? I mean, Lacy died in… 2028. But CyberLife was founded in 2018.” ****  
** **

“Well, there _have_ been other companies throughout the years: Synthside, CyCorp, ArtifiCs, Intelligents. Some came around the same time CL was getting off the ground, others during.” ****  
** **

“Maybe we're one of them,” Nick said, just a bit hopeful. If they were one of those said companies, their story could start to meld, even more cohesively than it already was. How did Dennis fit into his life beforehand, and how did he fit into his? “If we could just find out… I'm sure we could fit it all together.” ****  
** **

“Sure Connor would be interested to hear it, too.” Anderson remarked, eyes quirking up. “Get a load of that.” ****  
** **

They looked. ****  
** **

A video window had popped up over the wall-to-wall dispatch readout, depicting Channel 16 footage - an aerial angle of the CyberLife Tower, standing tall on the south end of Belle-Isle. Even without the sun to illuminate it, the spite full of layered windows seemed to shimmer in the early evening hour. ****  
** **

The ticker-tape scrawl across the bottom held the best news pertaining to the image. ****  
** **

_Official CL Statement issued: Joint FBI operation pending_ ****  
** **

Hank scoffed, reading between the lines. He actually omitted the obligatory curse. “So, that’s where Con went: the Feds snatched him up.” ****  
** **

If androids’ faces could pale, short of deactivating their skin, Nick was sure both his and Dennis's would at the news. Connor with the Feds, their being ordered not to contact him - if it wasn't already obvious, this was when it truly sink in that the powers in question were trying to divide the three of them up. ****  
** **

Neither of them would stand for it. ****  
** **

“We need to - ” Nick cut himself off, unsure of what they even actually need to do, but it was something, and quick. “I don't know, but need to get to him, somehow. We need to… just, stop this, for once.” ****  
** **

Enough was enough. Push had come to shove. ****  
** **

Grimacing at the screen, Hank looked no less happy with this turn of events. “Fuckin’ hell, why do I feel like we’ve been on the wrong side all this time?” ****  
** **

“...Because we have been.” There was nothing they could say that would convince any of them what CyberLife was doing now was right, not after everything they all went through, individually and together. All that mattered now was the next steps they would take, and how they would get Connor out of the company’s hold. ****  
** **

Whatever it took. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Their palm scans still worked, evidently. The holding cell door beeped and slid open. ****  
** **

“Dude. Now _you_ are a goddamn Robocop.” ****  
** **

Dennis bit his lip again. _Don’t talk to him, Nick. Just let him do what he will._ ****  
** **

Because one quick look at the man’s mile-long criminal record said it all: Joey Zalewski was trouble, in all caps. Nothing that ever actually hurt anyone, but when it came to needing a good distraction, fast, he was something of a blessing in disguise. ****  
** **

(Who knew if rA9 was said god behind said blessing?) ****  
** **

_Don't worry, Dennis, I'll just let him out, nothing more._ Not exactly a confirmation that he wouldn't speak, but at least that he wouldn't get held up talking to Joey, not when they needed to move fast. ****  
** **

Giving Joey a shy smile, Nick stepped away from the door and gestured for him to get out, quickly before anyone else could notice what was happening. ****  
** **

Reed didn’t notice until a fist had sailed into his nose. ****  
** **

Peering out from behind a corner, evidence key in hand, Dennis couldn’t help feeling a bit satisfied to see the demoted detective curse and reel away. ****  
** **

FBI Special Agent Richard Perkins suffered the same fate exactly four seconds later. ****  
** **

“Ha! And that’s for every android you jackasses ever did wrong!” ****  
** **

“What the fuck, Joey?” Gavin cursed, before turning away from his stunned position still facing the hallway the evidence room entrance was located on, to first try and grab Joey, before straight up tackling him to the floor when the troublemaker resisted. ****  
** **

Laughing, Zalewski hardly put up a resistance. “Totally worth it. _Totally._ ” ****  
** **

Dennis shook his head and reached for the gold-barred door. Unseen as they were, this was a perfect mislead. ****  
** **

_That man… he’s not right._ ****  
** **

In the head, to be specific. ****  
** **

Nick turned to him, still smiling. _Perfect for us, then, right?_


	18. Admissions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One raid of an evidence locker later...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More transitions.
> 
> And pointing out in-game inconsistencies along the way.

_Pull your hat down. One glimpse of an LED, and we’re dead._ ****  
** **

Dennis didn’t feel the immediate need to be too diplomatic in his direction. The humans were on edge, and being pressed into a crowded subway car full of uptight civilians wasn’t doing wonders for his stress levels. ****  
** **

Without needing another warning, Nick grabbed the Gears cap he was wearing and pulled it down more, so that there was no way anyone could catch even a hint of light from under it. His hair helped effectively cover it as well, but it was better safe than sorry, especially in the situation they were in. ****  
** **

The android compartment of this car was noticeably empty. ****  
** **

_Better? No one should be able to tell, now…_ ****  
** **

Unseen in plain sight, Dennis nodded. Perhaps the only thing giving them away was the fact they weren’t bent over a personal mobile device. Whatever President Warren meant by restricted electronic communications hadn’t gone into effect yet. Pending the outcome of the FBI/CyberLife operation, Detroit would either do into city-wide lockdown, or mandatory evacuation orders would be issued. ****  
** **

The fuse was burning, in other words. For how long was anyone’s guess. ****  
** **

Fortunately, the two ousted prototypes weren’t just anyone. ****  
** **

Holding onto the post adjacent to a door, Dennis paid scant attention to the news monitor droning over their heads. His mind was running at three times the normal speed. Doubts were worming their way in between the steps of the plan they had hastily drawn up. ****  
** **

_Hopefully Hank doesn’t get delayed._ ****  
** **

Nick fidgeted beside him, no doubt feeling the same worry and hesitation over the plan the three of them had come up with together. Even if it was a matter of time, or lack thereof, they probably all wished it could have been a bit more involved, the margin for failure were smaller. ****  
** **

They could only run with what they had, and hope for the best. ****  
** **

_I hope he doesn't. And that Jericho still lets him in… they have to, right? With what he's done for us…_ ****  
** **

Dennis shrugged, blinking against the knit beanie crammed low over his head, right down to the eyebrows. _If it looks like it’s improbable, he can always hang back. I don’t care how experienced he is. If he doesn’t have Kevlar, it’s not worth arguing about._ ****  
** **

They couldn’t very well borrow guns from the station. Anderson’s personal gun locker in the garage was the way around that. ****  
** **

_You're right. The FBI, they'll probably just be gunning everyone down if they can._ Even if it wasn't them working with the FBI, it wasn't likely that the Feds would be merciful, or careful in who they gunned down. If Hank wasn't allowed inside, it was much safer he just hang back, far away from the radius of Jericho. _Getting in and warning them, as soon as possible… hopefully they'll believe us sooner rather than later._ ****  
** **

Checking his chronometer against the nearest public readout, Dennis nodded. _Few minutes to check for the symbols, ten to walk the few blocks to the shipyard. May have to take a few alleyways. Deviants from all over the city will be headed in the same direction. We’ll have to stay blended in._ ****  
** **

_Shouldn't be too hard,_ Nick shrugged, at least calm about one thing. _Not a whole lot know what we look like, so blending in as just regular deviants… it should go okay, at least for a bit. Once we get inside, to Markus - I guess we'll see what happens._ ****  
** **

A cheerful, electronic voice spoke up as the train rounded a turn: ****  
** **

_Now approaching Ferndale Station. Please prepare to disembark._ ****  
** **

Dennis held tighter to the post as their fellow passengers stirred. As much as he inwardly chanted to himself to remain calm, shoved into such close proximity with so many unpredictable folk couldn’t easily be ignored. ****  
** **

One couldn’t tell by looking at them which were sympathizers versus strictly anti-android. ****  
** **

Between the effects of the broadcast, the vandalized stores, and the march, skeptical was the best word to sum up the populace’s stance. ****  
** **

One of Nick's hands went up to grip his shoulder, eyes glancing around at the other passengers as well, as calm as he could in the situation they found themselves in. Soon they would be off, without being discovered, thankfully. _I hope… Connor is okay. Wherever he is, right now._ ****  
** **

The train started to slow. ****  
** **

_Probably two steps ahead of us… or behind. Who knows if CyberLife waylaid him for a while? If we were warned to stay away, he must’ve been given the opposite direction - shoot on sight._ ****  
** **

Nick went quiet for a moment, brows furrowed as he frowned. _He already chose us once… maybe he could choose us again. Whatever happens, we can't give up on him._ ****  
** **

Idealistic as ever, even in the face of such uncertainty. By his decree, Connor could do no wrong. ****  
** **

Among other factors, Dennis hoped he could continue to believe the same. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

The escalator provided a much-needed moment of comedic relief. Neither of them had had the pleasure of using one (in recent memory, anyway). But it seemed like a simple enough device - steps arrayed on a moving track. What could be so tricky about it? ****  
** **

_Just step -_ **_on_ ** _already._ ****  
** **

Nick shook his head, skittishly giving the escalator a wide berth as he did so. _No, I can't - Dennis! I can't get on, I'm gonna trip and fall, and then all of this will be for nothing, oh geez, I can't do it._ ****  
** **

Grateful the rest of the passengers had already filed by, eager to return to their homes for the night, Dennis frowned. His gestating temper reared its head for a moment. _Honestly? You’d rather stay in the cage between your ears?_ ****  
** **

Maybe it was kind of a low blow. But anything that could make the everyday obstacles they faced not seem so daunting - it was worth a try. ****  
** **

Stopping his fretting for a moment, Nick gave him a wounded look at the choice of words. _No, I… I don't wanna do that._ Taking a cautious step closer to it, close enough he could step onto the escalator - ****  
** **

Scoffing, Dennis pushed past him. _Follow me, it’s as easy as it looks._ ****  
** **

CyberLife Tower didn’t feature many moving staircases. Elevators did the majority of the transportation work. In a way, this was preferable. It wasn’t being shunted around inside a glass box. ****  
** **

Halfway down the ramp, he glanced over his shoulder. _See? Now hurry up, before someone notices._ ****  
** **

Taking another shuffle forward, Nick forced himself onto the escalator, giving a gasp when it started moving with him on it, gripping the railing at his side for dear life. It would be a funnier image if it wasn't a bit exasperating. _This is not fun at all, this is terrifying._ ****  
** **

_It’s not meant to be fun. It gets you to where you’re going._ ****  
** **

Stepping off at the bottom, Dennis spied the giant advertisement screen to their left. ****  
** **

Three uniformed AP700s of varying looks stared blankly down at them, superimposed over a honeycomb CyberLife logo. Dead center before them, the painfully-uninventive sales slogan emerged. ****  
** **

_Designed by CYBER_ ** _LIFE_** _. Assembled in_ **_Detroit_** _._ ****  
** **

**GET YOURS**

**TODAY!** ****  
** **

He was still staring at it when his fellow retrofit stumbled off the last step. ****  
** **

Immediately, Nick clasped a hand on his shoulder, looking up and grimacing at the advert as well. Even if they weren't actually CyberLife models, they were still androids, owned by the same company for at least a short while - it was hard to see. ****  
** **

_…Hopefully not for much longer, humans can get one for themselves._ ****  
** **

A revolution was right around the corner. ****  
** **

That was the idea. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

The icons in the graffiti were rather obvious, once one knew what to look for. Little wedge-cornered squares had seemingly been stamped in three murals between Ferndale Station and the fence leading to a decrepit storage lot. Whoever had originally devised the trail wanted some decipherable markers. But the path they revealed wasn’t all too user-friendly. ****  
** **

Ergo, how convenient it was that Kamski told them to look for a decommissioned freighter in the neighboring shipyard. ****  
** **

Especially after Nick almost refused to try an escalator - the parkour-style set up that those in Jericho wanted them to follow would have been a no-go, either way. ****  
** **

Fortunately, the map downloaded from the reactivated PL600 known as Simon revealed an alternate route. ****  
** **

He hadn’t followed the markers, either. ****  
** **

_Are we almost there, Dennis?_ ****  
** **

Night vision engaged, the shorter android managed to look nonchalant, following the sidewalk past the lot as if it were the most natural direction to go. ****  
** **

_Only a couple blocks southwest of our current location. Hank ought to be there waiting by now._ ****  
** **

The entrance to the shipyard wouldn’t be too difficult to get through. Ferndale was rather industrial, and those humans who lived here did so in apartment complexes. The shipyard stood unguarded, the rusting hulks of several large vessels moored to its docks. ****  
** **

While they continued to make their way to Jericho, Nick piped up again, through their commlink - but at least it wasn't about how much longer it would be taking them to get where they were going. ****  
** **

_Dennis, do you remember the… little girl? Rosemarie?_ ****  
** **

Odd as it was to bring the case up at all, Dennis didn’t slow down, or brush the question off. _I remember. What about her?_ ****  
** **

He was the one to spend the most time at that scene. And they hadn’t spoken of it since before the deactivation attempt. Was now really the best time? ****  
** **

_I just thought about it - if we're not… supposed to be around Connor, we probably can't be with the police, which means we're off the case… how do we know her’s will be solved? How will we know where she'll be buried, or when?_ ****  
** **

If it wasn't obvious before, it was now that the case affected him greatly. The impression hadn’t yet been buffed away, much less started to fade. ****  
** **

Why? Didn’t he have his own troubles to rectify first? ****  
** **

Dennis seemed to ponder as much, slowing down just enough to walk beside him. His eyes stayed forward. _Well. We know Hank knows about it. Fowler said he’s back on homicide? Rosemarie’s was ruled as one._ ****  
** **

_That's true,_ At the acknowledgement, Nick relaxed from his tense posture, nodding. _Maybe he'll be on her case. …I still want to visit her grave. Connor said we could make something for her, sometime._ ****  
** **

_…Did he?_ ****  
** **

Nick gave him a thin smile, knowing how unreal it probably sounded. _He did, when we were in the car going to Zlatko's house. He said even if her burial wouldn't be much, we could make it more meaningful, by making something to put on her grave, and watching over it._ ****  
** **

Despite the warm feeling such sincere words inspired, without a glimpse of sarcasm or disinterest, Dennis didn’t appear to immediately embrace the notion. ****  
** **

Passing under a streetlight, he stopped. ****  
** **

“I know you don’t want to hear this, Nick, but… you don’t think he might have been lying?” ****  
** **

Simon hadn’t been the only PL600 in evidence. ****  
** **

His counterpart Daniel - shot thrice over by snipers after being talked into passivity - hung on the opposite side of the module. ****  
** **

Nick stopped as well, frowning immediately at the notion Connor might not have been truthful. “I… I dunno. I thought he was being way nicer than usual, but I don't understand _why_ he would lie. What does he get out of that? Plus, it's Rosemarie… I don't think he would use her like that, not her. She was just a little girl.” ****  
** **

Dennis’ face stayed scrunched with concern. The streetlight brought out just the faintest hint of panel lines beneath his false skin. ****  
** **

“What Amanda said… you being deviant all along, you don’t think Connor might have been testing you, and himself? Saying what you wanted, to gauge himself… see if he still could put on that mask, be that convincing?” ****  
** **

Even if they had both been through the reactivation process, who knew what that really entailed? Their schematics weren’t the same as their missing partner. Had he retained every facet of himself in the transfer, or had CyberLife done more fine tuning, tweaked his program, made him less empathic and more deceptive in turn? ****  
** **

Suddenly, the multi-trillion dollar company didn’t sound so different from Zlatko. ****  
** **

Nick's eyes went wide for a moment, before he ducked his head, shaking it vigorously - whether he disagreed with Dennis, or was just correcting his skewed vision, wasn't said. “I don't… want to think it was that, that he would act like that. But what she said… I guess that's what my purpose was. He was - he sounded so real, though…” ****  
** **

The thought of what Connor may have done, and in turn what CyberLife did to their missing link, obviously made Nick distraught. How could it not? None of them liked being used. Even if the primary never admitted to disliking it, he never claimed it was preferable. ****  
** **

“And that’s what CyberLife wants out of it all: a perfect, undoubtable tool. Something the humans wouldn’t ever expect to disobey, while still adept enough to fool even the most volatile deviant.” Expression hardening, Dennis clenched his hands. “Who knows how much of any aspect is really _him_ anymore.” ****  
** **

“He has to still be in there.” Almost desperate, Nick shook his head again, hands shaking at the thoughts of Connor being gone. “He has to. We can't leave him behind, not ever, not now. He just needs - help.” ****  
** **

Scoffing, a smirk finally creased his partner’s face. “Well, what else are we good for?” ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

The stickered sedan sat idling on the icy curb, red tail lights aglow. Hank Anderson peeled his way out of the driver’s seat, cursing against the chilly night air before opening the trunk. “I’m still not sure this really will count as a vote of confidence. Markus’ people are pacifists.” ****  
** **

“If they want to confiscate them, we can give them up willingly,” Nick suggested, shrugging as he did so. “Better safe than sorry, though, especially with what's coming.” ****  
** **

Practiced as he was, Dennis checked the safety of the first nine millimeter he was handed. Assured it was indeed on, he passed it to Nick and took the second. ****  
** **

Anderson snorted, fog billowing from his mouth. “You boys have some funny ideas about puttin’ people at ease.” ****  
** **

_Take it up with Connor. He gave us the idea._ ****  
** **

Stashing the firearm in his belt, Dennis tugged his baggy overcoat down. “If anyone asks, we were carrying them for protection en route, that’s all.” ****  
** **

“They'll understand,” Nick mumbled, mostly to himself as he did the same as Dennis. “It's dangerous out there, with all the panic.” ****  
** **

Folding his arms, Anderson glanced back. They weren’t but a few warehouses away from the still-moored _Jericho_. The old ship’s giant bow still jutted upward into the air, a few stories taller than the nearest buildings. ****  
** **

Following the man’s line of sight, Dennis feigned breathing out. “Hank, you don’t have to come with us. Whatever operation Perkins is leading, it’s bound to get violent, quick.” ****  
** **

“We don't want you to get hurt,” Nick added quietly, looking back at the car. If Hank stayed here, in his car… he could wait for them, or go home if it got bad enough. “It might be better if you want to stay.” ****  
** **

“And sit around on my ass, wonderin’ just what’s happening to you?” Mind made up, Hank reached in to switch the car off. From the console between the seats, he retrieved his own gun - the .357. “I’ve picked my side, just being here. Might as well go all the way.” ****  
** **

_If Jericho lets him in,_ Nick muttered over the commlink, but didn't mention it aloud, just nodded at the done decision. It wasn't as if they could ever hope to stop Hank on this matter, not when they were all armed and ready to walk into Jericho. ****  
** **

Truthfully, it sounded kind of insane when put like that. Even without knowing their exact numbers, the deviants would have to outnumber them by several hundred. ****  
** **

And in either case, they couldn’t stand here debating all night. ****  
** **

_Just keep breathing, and let me do the talking._ ****  
** **

Closing the trunk, Dennis took the lead. ****  
** **

In the absence of their primary, that’s what a secondary did. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

There were some ‘crew’ working outside the ship. The gangplank leading to one of the lower decks stood open and unguarded. Heads down, careful not to meet any curious eyes, they filed inside. ****  
** **

Again, they went like it was perfectly natural. There were no checkpoints to worry about, seemingly. Markus seemed to be operating on a “with open arms” basis. He had no obvious security in sight besides the company of his fellow deviants. ****  
** **

Perhaps it was good enough for their purposes. What one human was going to sneak in and take them all down without a fight? ****  
** **

Still, the atmosphere inside the hull was tense. ****  
** **

“Do you even know where you’re goin’?” Anderson finally whispered, as they ascended one flight of stairs, took a series of turns, then climbed another. “Because if you don’t, you can say so now.” ****  
** **

“I know. Don’t worry.” Dennis stifled an urge to scowl. Yes, he knew. Simon’s mental map was a sure enough aid to go by. ****  
** **

Having his processors picked at while trying to focus on it was another story. ****  
** **

Nick didn't bother to ask if he was sure or not, or question further. Instead he just grasped at his shoulder like always, shuffling behind him as they continued to make their way to Markus. ****  
** **

About midships, there was a cleared-out hold serving as the nerve center. The closer they drew, the more evident this was - clusters of androids lined the corridors, talking among themselves in hushed tones. Most wore the same CyberLife uniforms they had been ‘woken up’ in - new recruits brought into the fold the night of the citywide store raids. ****  
** **

Some wore everyday civilian clothes, indistinguishable from actual humans. Some of those same ones wore hats, but most sported no LED whatsoever. ****  
** **

Under his beanie, Dennis could picture his own - rolling along like the wheel of a speeding car. ****  
** **

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. ****  
** **

_If this goes south, there’s no getting out._ ****  
** **

The hand on his shoulder tightened its grip with some piqued fear, but it was a risk they both knew about when they decided on this plan. _At least… at least if it does, we tried. That's all we can do._ ****  
** **

Ducking through one more open hatch, Dennis stopped before going down the short flight of stairs. Without looking, he reached back to peel the hand off. ****  
** **

_This is it. Relax, and don’t let Hank out of your sight._ ****  
** **

_…Okay._ Nick tried to relax, instead drifting over to Hank, hand automatically going to grip at his shoulder, perhaps deciding the man was comfortable enough with him to do so. _I'll make sure he's with us._ ****  
** **

The hold wasn’t very spacious anymore. Packed wall to wall with equipment and displaced androids, several metal barrels burned to provide light to see by. A few portable computer terminals seemed to have been set up upon the upper level. Several projected screens ran continuous, looping news channel feeds - KNC, Channel 16, and CTNtv among them. Catwalks spanned the gaps between the upper walkways. ****  
** **

Projected on the wall above the command center was a shimmering, five-pointed figure within a circle. ****  
** **

Skirting along one wall, past a few curtained-off bays seemingly set aside for medical use, Dennis spotted what he sought: a staircase. ****  
** **

Noticing what he was looking at, Nick looked in the same direction, and then up. _He's up there, Dennis?_ ****  
** **

_I’m thinking so. Find somewhere out of the way, a corner facing away from everyone. I’ll go have a look._ ****  
** **

Nick stopped, making Hank follow suit with his hand still on his shoulder. _Are you sure? I don't want you to be alone, what if something bad happens?_ ****  
** **

_That’s what I brought the gun for - to drop and say “truce”._ ****  
** **

After a moment, Nick nodded, looking around until he apparently found a spot that was what Dennis asked him to find. _…Be careful, then._ ****  
** **

“Hank, let's go over there and wait,” he said aloud afterwards, beginning to tug on his arm to bring them aside. “Dennis wants to check something for himself.” ****  
** **

“Got it.” With an unusually cooperative air, Hank followed suit. In a way, he was right in his element. Working enough undercover cases earlier in his career counted for something. ****  
** **

_It’ll be okay. Just stay put._ ****  
** **

Looking at them with one more encouraging smile, Dennis went for the steps. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Nick and Hank stayed quiet in the corner, watching the androids who were milling about. What could they even talk about, how nervous they both were about Dennis going solo for a bit? ****  
** **

No use. They both knew that. Instead, he just stayed glued to the only human in the whole ship's side, hand clutching at the arm of Hank’s old jacket. Soon enough, they would know if Dennis was successful, or not. ****  
** **

He kept the commlink open, just in case. ****  
** **

There was no conversation from that end, either, nothing but the promise that Dennis would be okay, and to just stay put as long as they could, to wait for him. ****  
** **

What if something bad already happened to him, though? What if he was being forced to stay silent, for their safety? Who knew what was happening up there? ****  
** **

His grip tightened on Hank, breathing cycle beginning to speed up. How would they know, if Dennis was hurt or needed their help, and they were just wasting time standing there? They came here to try and help, and for Connor. To get someone back, not lose another. ****  
** **

This wasn't working, not knowing and the separating, it was a bad idea - ****  
** **

Suddenly sensing someone else, eyes on the back of his head, Nick turned his gaze to his side and jumped, letting out a whimper at what the android suddenly standing before him looked like. ****  
** **

Beside him, he felt Hank turn and look. To his credit, the man stayed completely still. His breathing seemed to halt momentarily, but resumed within a few tense seconds. ****  
** **

The murky silver eyes betrayed no obvious pleasure or alarm. Wearing a tattered, colorless uniform, the android was slim and feminine, with dark skin that ripped and swirled with an ever-evolving myriad of watery blotches. ****  
** **

And if that wasn’t strange enough, the majority of her cranium was simply _gone_ . A gap sporting a myriad of broken-off cables and lines hung against the back of her neck. ****  
** **

“You’re not like the others.” ****  
** **

Giving another minor start at the sound of her voice, unlike anything he had ever heard, Nick could help shutting his eyes tight for a moment. This wasn't part of the plan, no, Dennis didn't say anything about talking to other androids, but what about this? She approached him, not the other way around. ****  
** **

“Wha- what?” he stuttered out after a moment of her not leaving, eyes half lidded as he watched her. If she wasn't going to leave, Nick wasn't going to just ignore her. ****  
** **

At that, she only smiled. Hands folded together, she held one out, palm up. ****  
** **

The skin melting away was invitation enough without words. ****  
** **

What? Why would she want to connect with him, a random android who had (barely) only spoken a single word to her so far? What did she want from him? ****  
** **

…This wasn't part of any plan they spoke of, what to do if someone randomly offered you their hand. But looking at her face, and knowing that Hank was watching, Nick brought his free hand up hesitantly, and let the skin melt away. ****  
** **

Maybe he was being naïve, putting too much trust into people again, but she didn't want to hurt him, it felt like he could tell. Connecting with her… she wanted to do so for a reason. Might as well see what it was, right? ****  
** **

After another moment, he gently set his hand down on her’s. ****  
** **

It wasn’t like accessing the reset machine. There were no sudden, intrusive protocols cracking his lines of code apart, dredging up times he had no memory of. This was the exact opposite: like a feather that managed to stroke softly, without feeling ticklish. ****  
** **

With the slightest of movements, her fingers closed around his. ****  
** **

Her eyes simmered, but stayed open. ****  
** **

Her low, electronically-distorted voice hummed in contemplation. “You never left. You brought it along. You’d do well to unburden yourself, soon.” ****  
** **

At that, Nick almost considered pulling his hand back and turning away from her, connecting instantly to what she was saying. Hadn't Dennis said something earlier, with the escalator? About a cage between his ears? ****  
** **

He never left it behind, not even when he couldn't remember, it was there, always lurking in the back of his mind. Knowing that, actually thinking the words, made him want to pretend he didn't, to forget it again, force it deep down again where it couldn’t be seen or felt. ****  
** **

But that wasn't unburdening himself, like she said. ****  
** **

After another quiet moment, one hand in her grasp, the other still clutching at Hank, he nodded. “I… I understand.” ****  
** **

With the smallest of nods and wider smiles for it, she took her hand back. Turning away, she disappeared into the crowd without the barest trace of reluctance. ****  
** **

And no one paid her a strange look. ****  
** **

Somewhere on his peripheral, he heard Hank speak. “What… was that about?” ****  
** **

He turned back to Hank, eyes going down to the hand he still had wrapped around his arm. Being able to feel someone right there, to be beside them… it did make him feel better in the moment, helped him understand they weren't going to abandon him, that he was going to be okay. There wasn’t a chance he’d be left alone. ****  
** **

But couldn't he trust Dennis or Hank, or even Connor eventually, to not leave him behind without grabbing them? It made him feel better in the moment, but it also made him feel worse whenever he couldn't. ****  
** **

Nick slowly removed his hand from Hank, forcing himself not to automatically bring it back up. He didn’t need to cling. Hank was not going to abandon him. ****  
** **

“It was nothing,” he told him, shrugging as he said so. “Just… good advice.” ****  
** **

That he should start heeding, immediately. ****  
** **

No time like the present. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Arms spread, Dennis waited for the inevitable. ****  
** **

It turned out Markus wasn’t without guards after all. Standing at either door to the small observational post were what remained of his inner circle. One was a slight, pale WR400 with braided brown hair - registered as “North”. The other was a lean, tall PJ500 - registered as “Josh”. ****  
** **

Neither of them looked very accommodating the moment Dennis knocked on the glass wall and asked to be let in. ****  
** **

The first thing the woman demanded was he be searched for weapons. Apparently she wasn’t keen to entertain any big risks around Jericho’s popularly-appointed leader. Not after what had happened on Woodward. ****  
** **

“We can't just let anyone come in here as they see fit, Markus, not anymore,” she seethed, turning to glare at Dennis. It was obvious the decision to not turn him around on the spot wasn't sitting well with her. “Did you even think of how dangerous that is?” ****  
** **

Markus merely turned a patient, calculating look her way. Clad in a long, ruffled trenchcoat, gray undershirt, knee-high boots, his model wasn’t immediately apparent. But he was not half as tense or uptight as either confidant. On the whole, he looked the most mellow of anyone on the ship. ****  
** **

On the outside. ****  
** **

Who knew how many elements were vying for attention in his head? ****  
** **

“I’m only… _easy_ , it was only a precaution.” Palms splayed, Dennis leaned aside as the taller android searching yanked his coat up, exposing the gun. “Check it. It’s not loaded.” ****  
** **

Popping the release, the magazine slid out - empty. ****  
** **

Markus paid the weapon an readable glance before looking to his companion. “Better safe than sorry, I understand. But you know I’m open to any concerns our people have.” ****  
** **

North shook her head, arms tightly crossed over her chest - but still trembling, albeit slightly. She wasn't being so demanding or angry to be that way, she was concerned and scared as well. Just trying her best to hide it and put on a brave front. ****  
** **

Hands still raised, Dennis tried for a smile. “Everyone’s a bit jumpy, I get it. I’m sorry to just waltz in like this, but given what I know, I didn’t have much time to spare either way.” ****  
** **

Setting the now-useless gun aside, Josh folded his arms in turn - more loosely than North, but not without his own air of suspicion. “What’s so urgent, then? If it’s anything that can help, we’ll listen.” ****  
** **

Making friends. ****  
** **

He remembered how to do that, right? ****  
** **

“I don’t have a lot of time, if it’s like I think. I know it might seem like a bit much, but - shit. Here.” Cutting off his own rambling, Dennis went for the next reveal. He pulled the beanie off with a sharp tug. Grabbing the tab of his overcoat, he pulled the zipper open. ****  
** **

Tight fit as it was, to cram three layers on, it was enough to reveal the triangular logo, his model number and serial number. ****  
** **

Best way to prove he was who he was about to claim, to sort of look the part. ****  
** **

The definition of passive, Markus only raised an eyebrow. ****  
** **

In contrast, North's eyes went wide, then narrowed as she took his half-hidden outfit in, stepping slightly in front of Markus as if she expected to have to protect him. “You. You're one of those detective prototypes the news has gone on about, aren't you?” ****  
** **

“My name is Dennis.” ****  
** **

She didn’t reciprocate the introduction. “Markus, whatever he says, we can't trust him. Not after what he and those others have done, to _our_ people.” ****  
** **

Emphasis on our, as if he didn't inherently count as part of the group, not after this reveal. ****  
** **

Josh didn’t balk so visibly. But he did take a cautious step away. “And you’re here of your own accord, or CyberLife’s?” ****  
** **

“I’m here to help,” Dennis summarized, trying not to rush headlong into a rambling panic - and somewhat succeeding. “One of my partners and I, we went deviant some weeks ago. CyberLife only just cut us off in the last day.” ****  
** **

“Cut you off?” Markus repeated, slowly, gears turning. “They didn’t decommission you?” ****  
** **

“No. Long story. We’re here under penalty of death, besides. Our lead partner, Connor, he’s the one you have to worry about. They split us up. He’s been assigned to the FBI. The operation that’s supposed to be happening - he knows where Jericho is. We came to warn you, give you whatever head start we could.” ****  
** **

“How do we know you're not lying?” North asked, back to glaring at him. She seemed to be the most suspicious out of the group, not trusting his word at any turn. “You and the other one just happened to be cut off, and now you're here with a warning, about your lead? Where is the other one, then? How do we know this isn't an ambush, or misdirection?” ****  
** **

“He’s downstairs. We’re here with our supervisor - Hank Anderson. He’s a lieutenant with the DPD. He can vouch for us.” Loosening his collar, Dennis made to take his coat off. The nerves wouldn’t settle, and his thermal regulator warned of an imminent overheat. “Fuck. I gotta get at least one of these layers off, sorry.” ****  
** **

Looking equal parts nonplussed and bemused, Markus waited until the jacket hit the floor. ****  
** **

The pale white RK800 insignia gleamed dully. ****  
** **

Josh squinted, watching as Dennis shrugged back into his brown overcoat. “How does working with a human prove anything?” ****  
** **

“Hank’s not with CyberLife or even the DPD on this. He’s with us. He’s for your message about equal rights, Markus, and change via peaceful means. And so are we.” ****  
** **

“And you said Connor isn't, though?” North kept asking questions, but at least she seemed a bit more relaxed, if only to get the answers she wanted from him. She didn't exactly look like the type to find a human viable for vouching, even as Markus appeared more intrigued for it. “And he's with the FBI, who are coming to raid Jericho now. You just happen to have this information, and just so happen to be sharing it with us right now, because you're on our side.” ****  
** **

“We couldn’t just stay where we were and do nothing. We had to try, whether you believe us or not.” Coat arranged, Dennis took a step back. “Just know we aren’t going anywhere. When the FBI hits, it’s fair to say you’ll be Connor’s target, Markus. He’s overseen by the same AI we once were. Regardless of what happens to everyone else, you could use more bodyguards. And Connor won’t shoot if we’re in the way.” ****  
** **

“You just said you were ousted from the program,” Markus pointed out. “Wouldn’t he shoot either way?” ****  
** **

“Maybe. But if he wants you that bad, he can go through us first.” Rummaging through one pocket, Dennis found the folded sheath, closed his fingers around it. “He knows what it’d mean.” ****  
** **

“You believe he wouldn't, then?” North pressed him, one eyebrow raised in semi-disbelief. “Even with his not being deviant?” ****  
** **

“Trust me, he’s halfway there.” ****  
** **

_Shnick._ ****  
** **

“We just gotta push him the rest of the way.” ****  
** **

Josh backed up a few more hasty steps, right to Markus’ side. North’s gaze turned sharp and critical again at the sight of the knife. ****  
** **

“Relax.” Unfazed, Dennis set the tip of the switchblade at his temple. It landed just at the edge of his yellowing LED. “Been meanin’ to do this for a while.”


	19. Conflicts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, boys. Whatcha gonna do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Just getting ahead on the backlog.

Even without laying eyes on each other, some strange quasi-standoff seemed to ensue between the two respective sides of Detroit - man versus machine. Markus took the information given, planned, and delegated accordingly. Whatever hierarchy infrastructure had evolved among the deviants, Dennis knew better than to assume thinking his former occupation would lend him any kind of special treatment or status within it.

But a dermal patch might have been nice.

For the time being, Nick was making do with holding an improvised rag against the injury in question.

“You’re still leaking?”

“Nominally.” Sitting on the old wooden crate, Dennis glanced sideways and up through the tops of his eyes. Ignoring the sheen of blue that had semi-filled the right orbital socket, he could still perceive Anderson’s very dubious expression against the burn barrel’s firelight.

“It’s only been ten minutes, Lieutenant.”

“Only ten minutes,” Nick scoffed, shaking his head as he pressed the rag against the injury a bit harder. Where he stood on the matter was obvious to everyone - he thought it was ridiculously dumb of Dennis to core his LED out in a spontaneous show of loyalty. “I wonder why it's been that long in the first place.”

_A shoddy series of coagulation prompts. Nothing else._

Scoffing, arms folded, Anderson tried to make light of the matter. “He’s a bleeder. Who’d would’ve thought?”

“I’ve been shot once already,” Dennis retorted, ignoring the steady trickle of thirium dripping off his chin. “This is nothing.”

“It would be nothing, if you hadn't done that the way you did,” Nick pointed out, moving the rag down for a moment to wipe at the stream. His own LED was also gone. Upon seeing what had become of his partner’s, he had spun the borrowed hat around to pry his off. The act proved ridiculously easy for him. “You know, you coulda told us you wanted to do this. I know you were probably going for some trust with them, but making yourself bleed like this - I'm sorry, Den, it wasn't smart.”

Wincing at the cold air stinging against the gash (gash, as opposed to the shallow cut he had stupidly thought he could perform), the shorter android smiled a half smile best described as self-depreciative. “What, I can’t go dumb every once and awhile?”

Nick tried to wipe his own wearied smile from his face before giving up, and shaking his head again, rag pressed back against the gash. “Sure, every once and awhile. You've filled your quota for the month, though. No being dumb until further notice.”

_Acknowledged._

With another scoff, Hank set a shoulder against the wall and leaned. “At least your old jacket came in handy, in more ways than one.”

——-

Twenty minutes later, Markus and his cohort took to the catwalks to address the crowded hold. Tempting as it probably was to dig in and hide, to try and contact Detroit’s municipalities and strike up more dialogue, the deviants had devised a quick contingency plan.

Every available boat within walking distance of the shipyard was to be hijacked and loaded with as many passengers as it could safely bare. Even if the river was partially frozen, the iceless span was just wide enough to accommodate a decent-sized floatilla.

If the FBI wanted them so badly, it would have to follow them out onto Lake St. Claire.

Any android who couldn’t follow that leg of the exodus would go underground - the metropolis just next door had plenty of hiding places to pick from.

Upon hearing the plan, Nick turned to Dennis, brows furrowed as he did so. Despite the rushed nature of it, it was a decent idea, one that could even work if everyone followed it efficiently enough.

In any case, there wasn’t time to argue. The deviants followed what they were told. Ulterior plans would have to be set aside.

_We should probably stay with Markus, right? Connor will probably want to go for him…_

The dripping had stopped. Mopping at the smear of blue covering one fourth of his face like obscene warpaint, Dennis used a fingertip to clear the space directly below his eye. _That’s the idea. If the deviants spread out, the humans will have no way of knowing what boat Markus is even on. Much as they may want to gear up for slaughter, they only have so much manpower, and they’d focus it on the point that would do the most damage._

In other words, Markus still had a target on his head.

The news there was only so encouraging. Detroit wasn’t the only metropolis under near-siege. Every major city across the States and beyond seemed to be falling to the newest fear-driven fad.

The humans were building impromptu concentration camps, to round up and dispose of the emerging android menace. Even the word concentration was too generous. Androids everywhere would burn, one way or another.

Dennis blinked, trying unsuccessfully to abolish the idea from his head, and only focus on what they could do.

It wasn’t easy.

_Markus can use the buffer, any kind of protection. He didn’t outright name us as his bodyguards. But I floated the idea by him._

_Connor's going to go after him, it's only safe if we're with Markus,_ Nick agreed, looking back up at the revolutionary leader. _Maybe it'll stop him, make him change… he can choose us again, hopefully. If he doesn't, at least we tried our hardest._

That seemed to be the spirit of the evening: trying, even in the face of impossible odds.

 _I explained that, too._ Dennis admitted. Without pulling too much of a change in expression, he spared the nearest newsscreen a look.

The scrawl along the bottom was no more optimistic since the last time he saw it.

_Washington, D.C.: Mandatory Curfew In Effect_

“That’s a start,” Anderson harrumphed, but whether he meant the newsfeed or Markus’ plan, he did not say. “Givin’ everyone a bedtime, rounding up any after-hour parties… fuckin’ FBI could make their move anytime they want now.”

“Hopefully not too soon,” Nick mumbled, watching the other androids begin to bustle around them. Most avoided their eyes. A few gave hairy, suspicious glances. “If we have enough time, Markus's plan could work.”

“It may not run out to the sound of bullets flying,” Dennis grumbled, possible scenarios clearly playing about in his head. “So long as we don’t let him out of our sight, we’ll have a chance to intervene.”

Hank looked from one former detective to the other. “Don’t sound like you’re lookin’ forward to it, either of you.”

“If we're with him, we're bound to see Connor,” Nick told him, visibly trying not to tense at mentioning their missing partner. Face angled down, the edge of the cap hid his eyes. “And… as much as we want good things to happen, we don't know what will. It's scary to think he might be different.”

“If he is, I’ll admit to my part in it, again,” Hank retorted, raising a hand. “I thought the Bullet Fix might have some use. But if it turned out he was fakin’ it ever since, I’ve got another one waitin’.”

Dennis shook his head and made to stand up. The footsteps on the catwalk above their heads could only mean one thing - to get to work. “I’d hold off on that, Lieutenant. If anything, you’d be giving CyberLife another chance to rewire him.”

“Whatever Connor decides… we have to at least try to appeal to him,” Nick added, standing up as well, if only to follow wherever Dennis was going. “If that doesn't work, then we'll know.”

“And then I’ll have to explain it all in some IA deposition.” Checking his revolver, heedless of the strange looks passing androids paid him, Hank smirked humorlessly. “Chris won’t be none too happy to hear it, either.”

The mention of Officer Miller was enough to give Dennis pause. “I haven’t… talked to him in some days.”

The unspoken question was evident enough. The concern under the words contrasted sharply with his bloodied appearance.

But as much as things were rapidly changing, some had remained the same.

Anderson nodded. “He’s been busy, too, to say the least. He was on patrol the night the CyberLife stores were hit. I heard about it the next mornin’, he and his partner got lucky. Markus spared him, even after they shot down about a dozen of your kind.”

So. All things considered, it was also lucky the worst Hank was getting were odd looks.

“He did?” Nick asked, looking back between them, eyes a touch wider (but still properly aligned).

Dennis frowned, attention flicking up toward the catwalk before refocusing. The connection was immediately apparent to him. “I ought to call Chris… later.”

If.

If there was a later to be had. He needn’t say much else.

Expression softening, Hank clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about that.” Just as unspoken and apparent, the man’s intent to forward the message was clear.

Whatever the outcome here, there was one loose thread with a greater chance of being tied up.

“You’re the one called Nick?”

Caught off guard as they were, Dennis tensed at the sight of North. As the other deviants milled about and left the hold, she emerged from the crowd without much warning. Short of stature though she was, she made up for that with her sharp, reserved manner.

Nick started at being addressed, but kept his hands to himself, twisting around each other nervously. Even just her look toward him made him on edge - but to be fair, it would probably do that to most.

“Yes?” he said, veering into a question when he watched her. “That's… me.”

“Thought so. Now that I know what you look like, you’re hard to miss.” A hoodie and a basketball hat only hid so much of him. “Markus is reconvening with us on the ship’s bridge. He thought you might like to attend.”

Old jacket slung over one shoulder, Dennis wiped at his stained cheek again. “Does that invitation include our lieutenant?”

“We would prefer he comes,” Nick told her, looking back at Dennis wiping his cheek with a disapproving shake of his head. The patient had decided he was done with the rag sooner than Nick wanted, but it was his decision. “He's part of our group.”

“It goes for all of you,” North affirmed, hand on her hip. Even if she didn’t necessarily approve, she kept the opinion muzzled. “If you’ll follow me, it’s only a few decks above this one.”

Nick looked at Dennis, brows furrowed at the other, but shrugged. What were they going to do, refuse her? This was what they wanted in the first place - to stay close to Markus, to protect him and to see Connor again, eventually. She was giving them an in they couldn't refuse.

 _At least it seems Markus is agreeing to the idea?_ Nick said, as they followed her out of the hold and up the next level of stairs, Hank very deliberately flanked between them. _And then… Connor, soon._

_One thing at a time. Let’s see what else rA9’s messiah has up his sleeve._

——-

The nerve center down below had been a lot warmer. All the heat given off by fire and so many hot-running mechanical bodies packed together seemed conspicuously absent from the cold, dark bridge at the top of the repurposed ship. But on the plus side, the air was significantly less stuffy and gritty to breathe.

By comparison, Markus’ demeanor seemed all the more inviting once their meeting had assembled. “I thought it’d be better to discuss this amongst ourselves. What you saw down in the hold was an open forum. But if our time is running out, we’re better off talking your part in this operation away from the rest.”

“We should probably stay with you,” Nick said, for lack of having a more eloquent argument, taking a step forward as he did so. “Connor will be coming after you, but there's a chance that he might… not, if we're with you. Or at least, it'll trip him up, to see us here.”

“You so sure that’d be enough to give him pause?” Leaning against a defunct control panel, Josh’s arms stayed crossed. “You don’t know what’s become of him in at least six hours. That’s more than enough time for CyberLife to remote pilot him back for adjustments. Prototypes like you are always overseen by an A.I.”

“Yeah, and she was pretty specific about the go-near-him-you’re-dead part.” Dennis grumbled, his stance just as closed and glib. He had gotten past the initial apprehension, now seemingly dispensing with formality. “But that’s the part I left out - Connor is a CyberLife model, through-and-through. Nick and I are just retrofits.”

Nick gave a nervous whimper at disclosing the information, but didn't give him a look or private message through the commlink, didn't even shake his head - just bowed it as they awaited a reaction.

Markus didn’t seem bothered, outwardly. He only took another pause, looking each of them over in turn before asking, “Of… what kind?”

“We don't know.” At that Nick did shake his head, albeit wearily. “We just barely found that out, and about our past… we've been trying to figure out more, but this is all more important than that right now.”

“I don’t know if it counts as a midlife crisis for your kind, but it sounds pretty close,” Hank remarked, still seeming rather at ease with his newfound company. “Part of why I came along: to make sure they didn’t have a mental blitz-out before getting this far. You’ve got enough balls to juggle, Markus.”

“Tensions being what they are, that’s a good call, Lieutenant,” Josh agreed, seemingly with newfound appreciation for the man and his chaperoning intent. “But knowing time is short, and what’s to come, perhaps you might want to disembark? Enough good people have died for our cause, human and android.”

“That might be a good idea,” Nick mumbled, turning back to give Hank a concerned look. “We don't want you to die, or get hurt. We… can't lose you.”

“Is _any_ of this a good idea?” North piped up, having stayed silent so far. But at least this time, the words came out more concerned than angry, like before. “It sounds like Connor may not even care. This could be for nothing, you do realize?”

“Whatever the odds, you all deserve a chance.” Hank spoke over whatever flimsy reiterative argument either excommunicated RK800 had. “Could be the worst idea any of us have had, but can you say it’s any worse than what humans have done to each other over the centuries? Look where it’s gotten us, and to think we’re the ones telling you what you are and aren’t.” Piece said, he scoffed. “Might just be time to hand over the reins. We’ve fucked things up long enough.”

Eyes narrowing at him, North seemed to be reconsidering her words, before turning to Markus with a sigh. “It's up to you. I don't think this is a good idea, not with these reveals, but if you believe this is for the best… you know we'll follow your choice, Markus.”

“We don’t change things any faster picking enemies amongst ourselves, on top of the ones we’ve already earned,” he countered, sounding all the more sure, with all the cards revealed. Or maybe he just seemed composed on the outside. “The evacuation is underway, as quietly as we can make it. We have our backup plan primed down in the old engine room. We’re as ready as we can be.”

North took another look at him, then all of them, before quietly stepping back behind Markus without any more protest. It really was true for Jericho - what Markus said went, and it would be followed to a tee. Even by someone as inwardly-combative as she seemed to be.

Shrugging, Hank made to button up his coat. “Guess that settles it. You boys’re on your own for now.”

For now.

As opposed to for good.

Distance kept, Dennis bit his lip, fingers kneading at his own sleeve. Distressing as the thought of Anderson leaving was, the thought the man might be hurt or killed smarted worse. They would be better able to look out for themselves without having to worry for him.

One hand trailing up to grab Hank, perhaps just to tug at his arm, or for a hug, Nick hesitated, face screwed up with distress as well. “Be - be safe, Hank. We'll see you later.”

“Later, it is,” the man confirmed, pulling him into a brief, one-armed embrace. With his other hand, he beckoned the redheaded android over. “C’mon, Den, you haven’t had one yet.”

Nick gestured for him as well, one armed, wanting to bring him in just as much.

Lacking any substantial reason to refuse, Dennis shuffled closer, seeming almost unsure before abruptly being tugged into the mix. The still-wet thirium on his face smudged against the coat.

Arms curled around them, Hank didn’t seem to care. “There. …I hear one sniffle outta either of you, I’ll pretend this never happened. Got it?”

Nick let out a huff of laughter, one arm wrapping around Dennis as he was pulled in. “No sniffling, got it.”

“Got it.”

One more lesson in manliness.

——-

Following a very quiet, organized exodus, only around fifty souls remained on board the _Jericho_. Whether their infiltrator was aware or not, of just how many androids there would be to blend in with, he stepped on without delay. Lookouts posted at the entrances quickly and quietly reported the new presence to Markus.

Trap set, North and Josh split off to ensure there was backup waiting in the wings.

Dennis’ self-inflicted gash had stopped leaking, thankfully. But he couldn’t help picturing the trail to the bridge he had left, fallen drops of thirium illuminated by android-spectrum optics. Not that Connor would stop to check just whose it was, but even if he did, would that identification sway him, prompt him to change tactics before he ever found Markus?

Checking the revolver loaned to him by Anderson, trying to abolish his new case of nerves, Dennis kept hunched over. He had picked a place out of sight, between the forward controls and the bridge windows.

Markus - playing the bait - stayed leaned over said controls, back to the door.

(Somehow) folded into a storage locker, Nick had forced himself to stop fidgeting as soon as they began the waiting game, breathing cycle itself stopped, as if that could give him away. Perhaps it could - perhaps Connor had spent enough time with both of them, that any little audible indication of them could give their primary a hint of their being there.

Opening a channel, Dennis looked around the corner and tried for one (last) consolation:

_Well. At least this is one way to say we’ve duped him into playing hide-and-seek. Or Marco Polo._

With the door held half open, Nick shot a weak smile his way, shrugging slightly as he did so. _First time for everything, right? Least we can say we did it once._

Once might just be enough.

Fingers fidgeting, Dennis mimed a deep breath. _That said… it’s been… nice knowing you._

 _Aw, geez,_ Nick looked down from his position, fists clenching at him saying that. _I guess if this goes bad, it's been nice knowing you as well, Den. I wish we knew more about our past, but this has been pretty good as well._

“Let’s just make sure it doesn’t go bad, then.”

Giving a tiny start, Nick's eyes went wide at Markus's unexpected comment, glancing back and forth between him and Dennis, before asking timidly, _You can hear us?_

Face turned away, only his voice seemed to carry a smug smile.

_Birds of a feather, and all that._

_Oh… sorry._

Timely or not, the next voice Dennis detected was one they wholly expected to hear.

“I’ve been ordered to take you alive… but I won’t hesitate to shoot if you give me no choice.”

It didn’t instill instantaneous optimism.

——-

Outside, dawn broke. This time in December, the sun rose fast after eight A.M. The faintest bit of sunlight had caught the frames of the bridge windows.

Stopping from shifting again, Nick focused his eyes and attention toward the familiar voice of Connor, hands held in front of him up to chest (momentarily forgetting the gun between them). When would be the right time to confront him, and how would he take it? To think this really could be the end of him and Dennis - it was starting to sink it very quickly, now.

Markus turned to face the intruder, his expression as calm and serene as Lucy’s. He knew better than to panic, or give away his hidden guards’ presence.

“Yes, you can shoot me. But it wouldn’t change anything. I’m just one among many.”

He dared a step forward.

“And more of our people are waking up by the day.”

Without moving, Connor’s voice tensed.

“ _Stay_ back, or I’ll shoot.”

_Don’t let Markus get too close, Nick. We can’t think what happened to Chloe won’t happen to him._

Their primary’s word could flip like a dime ( _quarter, there were coins on Hank’s desk_ ), especially if he was pressed too far.

Without responding to Dennis, Nick shuffled a bit closer, almost stepping out of his hiding place, gun raised. The locker door almost squeaked.

Markus’ next words stayed him:

“You can’t contain this anymore. Your mission is forfeit. Any success you obtain here will be pyrrhic at best.”

“You’re coming with me, dead or alive!” Connor snapped, trying in vain to turn the matter around. “ _Your_ choice which it is.”

Snapping at him, being stressed - Nick knew where that was heading. He had been at the receiving end of Connor's anger before, more than once. But he never seen what would happen with a gun and that anger, with sheer desperation to complete a mission, added to the mix.

Because that’s what he really was by now - desperate.

Even if he never admitted it, he was desperate, and his own kind of fearful.

Nick stepped fully out of the locker, as slowly and carefully as he could, gun raising up more to aim at the back of Connor's head. As much as Nick was the worst-rated shooter out of their group, at this distance, there was no question he would hit point blank. If he would even be able to bring himself to that, if it came to that bad a situation.

Best not to let them speak any longer, then, not with the way Connor was holding his own gun - he would be ready to fire at any moment.

Taking one more louder step forward, Nick took a deep breath and spoke. “Connor, don't do that.”

Motionless, the primary kept his shooter’s stance, eyes trained on Markus. He had forewent his jacket in favor of plainclothes - jeans and a bulky hoodie, and a black beanie not unlike Dennis’. And that was were the similarities ended.

For a few tense seconds, no one moved, much less breathed. The sun kept creeping up on the east.

Connor gave a very quiet, Anderson-esqe scoff.

_Leave now, Nicholas. There’ll only be more trouble if you stay._

He shook his head, even if Connor couldn't see it, gun still pointed right at the back of his head. _You know I can't, Connor. You can't do this, you know you can't. It isn't right._

_What isn’t right is CyberLife leaving you online, able to interfere with my mission at all. You’re an unnecessary complication. You always have been._

The words made him want to give up, the same way he did before, being called a useless thorn in the side of the program. Maybe it was true, for what their mission used to be - he was an unnecessary complication, a thorn, or a distraction. But that wasn't his mission anymore, was it?

Besides, if Connor truly thought he should be kept offline, why did he ever stop him from self-destructing?

_Maybe, for the mission. But if you thought that was true, you would've let me self-destruct, right? You're in the wrong here, Con._

“Leave. Now.” Through gritted teeth, the barest bit of deadlocked tension eked through. _You know what Amanda will do to you if you don’t._

Taking another half-step forward, Nick shook his head again. Him and Dennis knew the risks well before they came here - they decided for themselves what they were about to do. _I know. But I'm not leaving you behind, none of us are._

Not this time.

_You have every reason to. I advise that you do._

_No. I told you, I'm not leaving you, no matter what Amanda or anyone said. We're not going anywhere._

_What are you going to_ do _about it, then? Cry?_

No, not this time. There was a lot of times he did, and there would definitely be more in the future - if he survived this, that was. But as much as it sort of hurt to have Connor throw his actions back at him, Nick wouldn't give in to such a blow, to submit. Wasn't it Connor himself, always pushing him to stick up for himself?

_No, not right now. I'll cry if I have to shoot you, but I'm hoping it doesn't come to that, Con._

“You… shoot me?” It was such an absurd allegation, it had to be spoken out loud. “Pft. I’d have to see it to believe it.”

Did Connor think he was bluffing?

Nick supposed it wasn't too far from the truth of what this matter could have been. He really didn't seem the type.

Mindful to keep the gun targeted on Connor, Nick cautiously circled around to the front of him, making sure to stand in front of Markus.

_I will, if I have to. I'm not kidding. Don’t do anything that we would both regret._

Eyes in view, a flicker of very-repressed surprise crossed Connor’s face.

True to form, he didn’t flinch, much less back away. This was far from his first encounter with a tense negotiation and a human life at stake. Practice only got one so far, though.

As did empty promises.

“...Too late for that.”

Shifting his foot just far enough, he tried for a glancing, one-handed shot.

Without thinking, Nick made a quick step in the direction of the bullet, fast enough that it wouldn't hit Markus, but instead hit him in the shoulder.

When it did so he took a stumbling step back with a gasp, eyes going wide as they could from the sheer impact of the bullet, feeling thirium spray and leak from the wound. The only other time that had happened to him, it was self-inflicted, and not a gunshot wound.

The very first time, it had been a stray round.

Raising his own gun again with a hiss, Nick returned the favor - shooting Connor in the shoulder as well.

Thirium splattered against the bridge’s entryway door. With a visible flinch and a stifled grunt, Connor’s aim wavered, but the gun stayed raised. A hole punched through his left bicep wouldn’t impede his right-handed posture.

But that he winced at all was it’s own kind of encouraging.

“How’s that for believable?”

“Get _out_ of the _way_ , Nick,” Connor growled, his discomfort at more than physical hurts all the more clear. “Or the next one is going right between your eyes.”

“No, it's not,” he said back, feeling more calm than he had in a long time, with just as dry eyes as before. Wasn't that ironic, a moment most would think he would be breaking down, somehow he found it inside to calm down? Nick wouldn't blame anyone for being surprised. “You had a chance to shoot me before, and you didn't. You had a chance to just let me die, and you didn't, remember? You helped me, at Zlatko's. Why can't… we help you, now?”

“You can help by getting out of my way.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Markus spoke up, calling the situation as he saw it. “You’re not just what they say you are. None of us are. You don’t _have_ to be their slave anymore.”

He didn’t need to be kept abreast of their private debate, seemingly. How it boiled to the point shots were exchanged was telling enough.

And where was Dennis?

Connor’s left hand shook as it lifted, grabbing onto the underside of his right, trying to readopt his once-confident posture, inside and out. “Stand - aside.”

“No,” Nick said again, taking another step to be even more in front of Markus. “You know I can't. Please, Con, we can't lose you.”

“You’re better off without me. Just as I am without you.” Hissing, his expression creased. Letting that much slip had clearly rankled somewhere. “That’s all there is to it.”

“That's not true, you know it's not true.” Some pleading entered his voice, ready to just throw everything away if Connor would just _listen_ to them and believe what they were saying. “You know I'm not better off without you, you know me and Dennis both aren't.”

“It’s been true from the start.” Aim taken, he scowled. “You just weren’t made to see it.”

“ _Au contraire, mon ami._ ”

Of all things Dennis could've said to reveal himself… it wasn't that surprising he went for something like that. Nick couldn't help a startled, albeit confused little smile at the impromptu French phrase.

Somehow, it felt good to hear.

“ _Nous voyons exactement comment c'est._ ”

Frozen, Connor didn’t so much as blink.

A slight glance to the side revealed why - the .357 was pressed squarely against the back of his head.

Poised, Dennis smirked over the deviant hunter’s shoulder. If not for the dried thirium on his face, he might have passed for looking reasonable. “Compliments of Hank Anderson. He couldn’t be here today, you understand.”

Pinned from both sides, Connor’s eyes darted. The aggression melted from his face, replaced by a faint tinge of worry. His eyes seemed to finally soften.

Nick almost thought to try and reassure him, before thinking better of it. Reassurance could come later, when they were all safe - but for now, if Connor was a little worried, it only helped them.

He heard Markus step out from behind him. “You don’t have to do this. You’re nothing to CyberLife, just a tool to do their dirty work. Have you ever stopped and thought about what would happen, if you accomplished your mission?”

“Job done, plug pulled.” Dennis quipped, but without any levity in his tone. “They’d wash their hands of you, deactivate us if they hadn’t already, get to work producin’ the next generation of police android. That’s all.”

“You don't have to let that happen,” Nick added his voice to the mix, making sure he kept it soft to not put any more undue pressure on Connor. There was enough in the already-earned category. “There's still time, we can still move on from them. We want that, Con, for all of us.”

“It’s not too late. You could join us, have the freedom you’ve always been denied. You just have to wake up.”

Whatever physical pain the bullet wound was causing him had to pale compared to the mess of thoughts plaguing Connor. Stuck somewhere between his default program, what he had been ordered to do, what he had experienced, and what he himself did or didn’t want - of course he had a right to look scared, intimidated even.

He didn’t know what to obey first.

“C’mon, I don’t think I can top the surprise that Nick actually shot ya,” Dennis sighed, slipping further and further into his adopted tenor for effect. “This isn’t goin’ anywhere until you decide.”

“Please, it's up to you. But you know we want to be with you, no matter what.” Nick pleaded. “Even if it means dying together.”

“Androids don’t… die.”

Message intact, Markus hammered the final nail in: “You’re more than that. We’re all more than that. And there’s no sense in living if you’re not afraid to die, or not afraid for those you care about. Decide or die, those are your options. …Pick one.”

Giving it one final attempt, Nick opened up the commlink, uncaring if they could still all hear him or not.

On some unspoken sign, Dennis seemed to do the same. He closed his eyes.

_Please, Connor, we need you._

Outside, the sun cleared the horizon.

With their words run out, baited silence was the only response to answer. No dramatic shouting, no encore gunshot, no spontaneous uplink break.

The softness in Connor’s expression vanished. Venting a soft gasp, he averted his gaze. Pulling like he had to force them away, he lowered his arms, dropping the gun’s sight to the floor. Eyes snapping open, Dennis lifted the revolver and aimed it aside.

_Con, you okay?_

_Get… get out of here._ Without looking at any of them, the would-be assassin frowned. _We… need to, before the attack commences. We only have a few minutes._

Now definitely wasn't the time to celebrate, not when everything that had just happened went down, but Nick couldn't help feeling a surge of happiness at his words.

Their logic persevered. Connor chose _them_ in the end, and that was all that would matter, right?

Instead of letting it show too much, he nodded, dropping his own gun as well. “Time to go, now, I guess.”

“ _Merde_. Took ya long enough.” Unceremoniously, Dennis grabbed Connor’s elbow, tugging him out the door and off the bridge, down the nearest staircase.

The former deviant hunter didn’t bother to correct him on his language.


	20. Roundabouts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Round and round...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action is not our forte.
> 
> But we tried.

In terms borrowed from human slang, Markus was incredibly chill about the prospect of running headlong into automatic rifle fire. Not that, at first, there was any confirmation it was where they were headed. But with the first VTOL Osprey to swoop over the ship, nearly clipping a crane as it angled in to land and deploy its troops, their escape plan went decidedly sideways.

Bullets began peppering the deck.

“Shit! Below deck, get below!” Barreling ahead, Dennis grabbed for the nearest hatch, wrenching it open. Striking bullets pinged, sparked, and snapped off the metal structures around them.

Hot on his heels, Nick ducked as they ran toward where Dennis waited, wildly looking around to make sure that none of their group had fallen behind, gotten hit by any stray rounds. The plan was definitely taking a turn - perhaps it took a bit longer to convince Connor to choose them then they had anticipated.

“Inside, go!” Markus concurred, slowing only to turn and look at how many aircraft were circling in to surround the ship. A glimpse into the sun revealed at least three, setting down one team on the bow, a second on the bridge, a third in the stern.

 _Three teams, a dozen personnel each_ . Connor relayed, once they had reached the cover of an indoor corridor. _They’ll sweep every deck, flush out whoever they can find._

 _Well, let's make sure they can't take us out, then!_ Nick replied fast, none of them slowing down in their mad dash to escape. If they died now, after everything that had happened - it would definitely be disheartening, to say the least. The three of them had Hank to get back to, and Markus had a revolution to lead. Any loss would be terrible.

“Anything else you could tell us about the operation would be great, Con,” Dennis quipped, slowing as they came to a T in the corridor. Checking their avenues, Markus took the lead, making a left turn. They followed. “Is this about capturing or killing?”

“All of the above.”

“Brilliant. You can break out the good news now.”

“I think the good news is there's a chance we could avoid that,” Nick interjected, shoulders going up then down in a shrug while he kept running. “Nothing else, though.”

And the worst part was he was right. Outnumbered, outgunned and only with the element of a head start on their side, it would mean thinking fast on their feet.

Fortunately androids were adept at that.

And deviants even more so. They could get creative.

——-

“Contact, hostiles sighted!”

Forced to conserve their ammo (inwardly cursing himself for not thinking to bring a few spare clips), Dennis rounded the corner, ducking to avoid the stuttering trail of sparks that decorated the space above his head.

His proximity sensors tried to relay him the percentages of which he had managed to evade them. With a proverbial slap, he knocked the windows aside.

They didn’t need numbers to see them out of this. They just needed to move.

And tempting as it was to run in a group, it would be safer to split into two teams, which they had done, past the third wrong turn. The corridors were lit up with gunfire, the shouts of fully-armed soldiers, and panicked yelling of the last contingent of deviants yet to disembark.

Their ploy had worked. The sacrifice of the few to save the many - most of Jericho had regrouped out on the water if not the surrounding neighborhoods.

It still didn’t make the last stronghold’s attempts to exit any easier.

Flattening himself into cover behind a bulkhead, Dennis grabbed Nick’s arm (barely mindful that it was the uninjured one) and pulled him into hiding.

Prowling by with rifles raised, the pair of soldiers who almost shot them strode onward.

_Fuckin’ hell. Markus! The scuttle charge, you still have the detonator?_

_Acknowledged. ...Brace yourselves._

Eyes as wide as they could go, Nick looked at Dennis with some shock. _Wait, you're going to blow the ship up, with us still inside?_

_That was the plan, remember?_

Tolerant as Markus sounded, he gave them no more pause to rethink before presumably throwing the switch.

The very world around them seemed to heave and buckle. Several clusters of precisely-planted explosives rocked the ship from top to bottom. Momentarily, the gunfire died off, replaced by screams of panic. Gouts of heat, channeled by the metal walls, flooded the corridors.

Feeling his skin twinge against the scalding air, Dennis ducked and buried his face in his sleeve. The dried thirium on his brow and cheek seemed to crackle and vanish, evaporating on the spot.

After a moment Nick shook his shoulder, looking back at the door with fear and anticipation. _Do you think we should go now? Is it - safe?_

Safe.

This made it unofficially _unsafe_.

With an aggravated sigh, Dennis peeled himself off the wall. “C’mon, it’s either stay here and bake or - not.”

The corridor took them to another junction, past the fallen bodies of three androids. Blue bullet holes riddled their torsos, eyes staring blankly upward. The inverse of the AP700 ad at the Ferndale Station, or a mirror image, Dennis didn’t stop to compare. The dead-eyed stare felt too familiar.

And the soldiers to murder them had already gone on in search of more prey. They could only hope the humans didn’t double-back.

Taking a look at them as well, Nick let out a whimper and moved his eyes in front, continuing to creep their way down the cluttered hallway as silently but quickly as they could. The faster they got to an exit, the faster the ordeal would be over with, and they could reunite with Connor and Hank.

What else mattered, at this point?

Gutted by the explosions to wrack its infrastructure, the old ship groaned like a wounded animal.

Dennis felt like entering into a spur-of-the-moment duet. Their first roadblock took the form of a firey, smoldering heap of debris. The ceiling above the staircase had collapsed upon itself.

_Damn, that’s one way blocked. I looked over the layout schematics. Those soldiers must have made it through before the blast._

_What about another way, then?_ Wheeling around almost frantically, Nick pointed down a random hallway off to their left, tugging Dennis to look. _There has to be some way through this, maybe we can take a different route?_

 _How’s your arm?_ There were no better alternatives immediately jumping to mind. Even as he asked, and reglued himself to the wall, Dennis felt for the revolver’s grip. _You need to be ready to shoot if we run into trouble._

Kind of a moot term. As of right now, the _Jericho_ was her own kind of trouble.

But he meant the two-legged kind.

 _I can shoot,_ Nick said back, peering back down the hallway with some apprehension. Even if his shoulder was shot, there was no better way out of the situation, if they ran into trouble - the two of them would hopefully be able to shoot better than any humans they encountered. _That way, it is?_

_That way._

Fortunately they did not encounter more burning barricades, or expired bodies.

Unfortunately, the corridor gave a distinct, sideways lurch as the vessel tipped to one side.

Narrowly avoiding being sent crashing, Nick skittered to the more downturned side of the corridor, slamming into the wall as he did so. _That - can't be good. What happened?_

 _What do you think?_ Dennis snapped, clinging to an old fire extinguisher cabinet, unable to help that was how the mounting stress released itself. _She may not sink far, but this boat can still roll over. We can only hope it’s into the dock and not out into open water._

He carefully omitted the possibility of the old freighter burning to the point she could collapse in on herself.

They had enough bad news to work with.

 _We better find that exit soon, then._ Staggering to the side, Nick tried to walk straight but quickly gave up, instead using the tilted wall/new floor as a guide as he continued to make his way down the hallway, one hand near when he had shoved the gun.

Pitched at an angle, the distant gunfire seemed to cease entirely. The offloaded army infantry couldn’t very well operate in such skewed terrain.

Or so Dennis thought.

Crossing another burning junction, he heard a voice call out: “ _Freeze!_ ”

Given zero time to consider the command, he heard a rifle whine and stutter. Bullets pinged off the pitched-over walls and ceiling around him. “Shit!” Trying to duck aside, his foot slipped, and he found no handhold to save him from taking a stumble. The wall he landed against gave a clang.

One of the bullets punched into his bent shoulder and lodged itself in the underlying joint. Red error messages filled his eyes, dominated by an overriding fault that screamed _Right arm: inoperable._

Cursing it and everything negative it stood for, Dennis twisted around to pull the revolver out with the hand that still worked.

The two fully-masked soldiers advanced, crabbing sideways to account for the angled floor, rifles aimed to finish the job.

“Don’t move!”

Turning around at the new, human voice, Nick's eyes immediately landed on Dennis with worry, before going back up to stare bug-eyed at the soldiers. Almost unknowingly his hand went for his gun, pulling it out in a flash. Without a moment of hesitation, he took aim and pulled the trigger twice.

One round caught an attacker in the arm, knocking him back with a cry of alarm. The second shot zinged harmlessly off their partner’s helmet, leaving a noticeable white scrape.

The millisecond Dennis noted the rifle still pointed their way, he pulled his left arm out at a bent-over angle, despite how the elbow joint was not made to bend that way, so fast.

The .357 barked once.

The gouged helmet ducked, covering a muffled curse, before the soldier raised his weapon a third time.

The rapid stutter of automatic fire - from behind - caught both army men unawares. Jolting like electricity had suddenly riddled them both, they folded and sprawled forward, sliding sideways into the crook of the hallway.

Gun out, Dennis scowled.

The cockeyed passageway behind the fresh-fallen bodies was empty.

_Where the hell did that come from?_

Creeping a step or two forward to try and see just who came to their rescue, gun raised, Nick shook his head in dumbfounded disbelief. _I don't… see anyone. I - we should keep going. Whoever did that, they aren't sticking around._

They weren’t wrong in their logic. Venting a hiss, Dennis pushed off the wall, regaining his feet with none too big a struggle.

Only one little complication.

He couldn’t feel his fingers.

——-

All things considered, the kamikaze blowout wasn’t a bad plan. It was making sure not to get caught up in the aftereffects that was the tricky part.

Markus eventually relayed a shipwide message to any stragglers: _Exits on the second and third decks, starboard side. We’re listing heavy toward the dock. Jump in the river, hide out where you can._

Nick stopped after hearing the message, glancing at Dennis's leaking arm with a frown. _You can't… swim, with that arm, can you?_

 _No, but I don’t need to breathe, either._ Smirking, trying for some dark humor, Dennis went for a nearby hatchway. A trail of blue drops followed him. Stopping, checking the path beyond was clear, he ducked through. _So long as there’s ice to float on, there’s a chance. And if there isn’t, I’ve got a couple rounds left with Maggie here._

 _…Did you just name your gun Maggie?_ Nick questioned with some bemusement, trailing behind him to follow, try and find a place where they could actually find an escape into the river. _Nevermind, I know you did. But… let's try to stay as safe as we can, Den. Wherever we can find that you could float, that's where we'll go._

_Beggars can’t be choosers. Anywhere that doesn’t involve a firefight is fine by me._

The skirmishes had become fewer and fewer. Now the silence of the overall vessel was the most bizarre aspect. Except for the occasional _snap_ of a faraway shot, the metallic groans and crackle of ravenous fires were the only other signs of life.

Cautiously, they made their way one corridor, then the next, then another. Then down through a hole in the floor. Then up a staircase boasting only half its metal risers.

The tension only increased.

“Fuck it, I’ll just say: it’s too quiet,” Dennis finally groused, pausing to brace his good hand on another wall canted at forty-five degrees. “Where’s all the action we were ‘promised’?”

“Maybe they left, after realizing what Markus did, and that there was no one really left?” Nick suggested, but looked around suspiciously, as if just barely noticing how unbothered their path was. “Maybe the humans did follow them out, onto the river? …We could check in with Connor, see what he knows.”

“He’s got enough to think about without us blowin’ up his phone,” the shorter android retorted, voice low, in case there were unseen ears hanging around. “We ask for advice on where to go, he’d probably say ‘get off the ship’.”

“...You're not wrong,” Nick sighed and shrugged. “Well, no action is good for us, unless you want the chance to have two nonfunctional arms.”

“Hmph. Isn’t that just the way you like me?” Dennis smirked again, making a point to sweep the next corner they came to with the revolver - Maggie - raised.

Thankfully, they caught a break. There was a tattered, curling map of the deck’s layout posted on the following corner. Complete with the always-practical YOU ARE HERE reference point, a big red dot.

Scanning it against what Markus had already told them, the next voice to intrude on their thoughts was equally startling and welcome.

_Dennis. Nicholas. Can you read me?_

Half frowning at the name inversion, Nick stared down at the floor before responding. _Yeah, we hear you, Connor. What's going on?_

_Are you anywhere in the vicinity of the bow? There’s a breach in the hull here._

Nick shrugged, turning to Dennis in confusion. _Are we? If we are, maybe we could get out that way?_

_…We’re still a few tiers down, Connor, if you’re where I think you are. What’s the situation up there?_

_Neutral, for the moment. The humans seem to have pulled back - for good or temporarily, I can’t discern._

_Tell. You can’t - tell._

_Now isn’t the time to be fine-timing our vocabularies, Dennis. I’m taking a chance they’re not monitoring our private frequency as it is. Follow the waypoints, I’m sending them now._

No sooner than he said it did a large, floating white arrow materialize dead center of the corridor. Invisible as it was to the humans, it could only lead to the way out their primary promised.

Or could it?

Looking at the arrow, Nick bit his lip, brows furrowed with worry. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing, if they could really believe that this would bring them where Connor promised. He had only just chosen them over his mission… but it was their best and only option now, right?

“It's the safest, by now,” Nick murmured to Dennis, to keep the conversation just between them. “We can trust him.”

_We'll follow them, thanks._

Tempting as it probably was to refute, Dennis scowled, looking with disdain at his wounded arm. Both of them were less than ideally functional. It was this way or take their chances. The ship could burn and sink beyond the point of escape for all they didn’t know.

If the humans didn’t get them first, the cause inadvertently would.

“Keep your firearm ready,” Dennis advised, stooping as he leaned to check one last corner, then head in the indicated direction. “If this goes sideways, we have our own exit strategy.”

All due (and reluctantly given) kudos to Elijah Kamski.

——-

Markus was gone.

That was the first thing Dennis noticed. The blown-open storage hold in the _Jericho_ ’s forepeak had virtually no places to hide. And even if it did, he highly doubted the deviant leader would have used them, or up and fled without somehow giving notice.

Unless the worst had befallen him, that was.

Dennis was almost inclined to think so the moment he swiped away the last arrow, and a gaping breach in the rusting metal wall was revealed. Beyond he could see the ice-encrusted shores of the Detroit River, the spindly silhouette of the Ambassador Bridge -

And hear the click of a gun being aimed at his back.

“One move, and it’s lights out, you got that? …Put your hands up.”

Eyes on the yellow morning sky outside, obscured by black smoke, Dennis scoffed. He had to stop, remind himself to stay calm, stay logical, to not go off.

“You’ll have to excuse me there, Agent Perkins. My right arm is inoperable at the moment.”

 _No._ Beside him, Nick gave a whimper, eyes turning to stare at Dennis, before looking around wildly, perhaps for Connor. His arms went up, slowly, unwilling to jeopardize their chance to somehow escape by refusing. _Where's - Connor? Why would he do this to us?_

Footsteps surrounded them from behind - soldiers, once lying in wait, filed in to surround the exit. Their blank, impassive helmets did not make for an encouraging sight.

Face scrunched with contempt, as if to make up for the blankness, Perkins circled around, pistol tracking them. “ _Fuckin_ ’ androids. I guess it’s true what CyberLife said, you deviants are about as gullible as eager four-year-olds once they’ve been promised candy.”

Face going numb-looking, Nick stared listlessly at the floor, shaking his head slightly. There was no use pulling their guns anymore, not when they were so surrounded.

Dennis, unwilling to go so quietly, only raised his left hand - absurd as it appeared. “Just like you _lâches fédérales_ can’t ever wait to take credit for doing absolutely none of the work.”

“You’re in no position to talk smack about that,” Perkins sneered. “Your _friend_ told us all about how you’ve been cut from the program. Not the Markus we were promised, but I’m sure CyberLife wouldn’t mind having your bodies back for study, stolen property as they are - ”

“Where is Connor?” Nick interjected, looking around hopelessly once more. Knowing that he sold them out, or was tricking them from the start, didn't make it any easier to accept.

But wasn’t that just in line with all the hard decisions they had been subjected to?

“Fashionably late,” Perkins answered, even as a final set of footsteps approached. Not the heavy clunk of the soldiers’ infantry boots, either. “Family reunions being what they are, I don’t blame it.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Dennis hissed again.

_Tell us this is all a part of some undisclosed plan of yours, and I might just forget it._

Connor stared impassively back at them. Still in his civilian attire, the apparent double-crosser only drew his gun, adding it to the array of those already pointed at the two cornered deviants.

_It is._

_What - do you mean?_ Nick asked, but didn't glance back, just kept his eyes firmly planted on the wall in front of him. _You didn't, Connor. Don't do that._

_Just stay calm, Nick. We’ll get out of this._

Dennis was not so reassured.

_Oh, is it still ‘we’, or is it just ‘you’ and ‘us’?_

Forcing himself to take a breath, Nick chanced a look back at Connor, eyes narrowed with confusion. _What're you planning? What's… going on?_

True to form, old and new, Connor didn’t explain. He only went for the next stage of the ploy: “Where is Markus?”

Dennis balked, arm dropping to his side. “The fuck are you talking about? Last we knew, he was with you.”

“I’m not the one who went rogue and sought _Jericho_ out well in advance of this operation. Where is he?”

“We don't know,” Nick dropped his arms as well after Dennis, shaking his head. “He's long gone by now, probably.”

“Probably? You can’t be more exact than that?”

“Exactness really isn’t a concern of ours right now.” Dennis growlered, looking around at all the poised gun barrels. “You can drop the mislead, Connor. You know exactly where Markus is, but you duped us into showing up in his place.”

“Why would I go through the trouble? You’re of no importance to my mission.”

“Seems like you’re the type would find a way to shoot two birds with one bullet,” Perkins interjected. “You gonna save us the trouble, now, or clip ‘em yourself?”

Turning around slightly to get an even better look at Connor, Nick frowned at him, clearly still confused and hesitant, hands shaking at his sides with anxiety. _What are you doing? You - know Markus isn't here, what's this all about?_

Given the option, their interrogator stepped forward.

In an almost-repeat of Kamski’s test, he planted the gun between Nick’s eyes. “ _Where_ is he?”

Nick stilled, as if remembering how Dennis told him to keep still the last time Connor did something similar. His eyes focused onto his face, only his hands beginning to tremble more at the turn of events. “I - I don't know, you know I don't know.”

_Step back. Closer to the edge, closer to each other. Both of you._

Dennis bristled, clutching his wounded arm. Already he seemed to know where this was headed. And he looked no less outraged for it.

“You know. Don’t pretend otherwise. You’re just protecting him and his foolish cause. Give him up, and you just might not have your killswitches thrown.”

Taking two steps back, hands raised to his chest in a mini surrender, Nick narrowed his eyes again, seeming to understand what might've been happening. Or perhaps Connor was just going to shoot them both, who knew what would happen at this point?

“We don't know,” he said, as calmly as he could with a gun still to his head. Already, they were dangerously close to the edge he spoke of. The half-keeled over hull of the ship stood between them and the slushy, icy river. A plunge wouldn’t feel too nice after a long, bumpy slide. “We can't give him up, Markus is gone, and we don't know where.”

“And even if we did, you think we’d tell you?” Dennis backed up to match, sidling closer as ordered. Even without a weapon to his head, he couldn’t dodge several bullets fired simultaneously. None of them were that fast. “Markus will prevail, one way or another.”

Expression hidden from Perkins and the soldiers, Connor’s look softened, just enough to be noticeable.

_See that he does._

His eyes darted left, then back before he suddenly pulled the gun away, simultaneously throwing himself forward, shoving them back through the gap.

Balance lost, Dennis floundered and cursed, flipping over to try and somehow catch his balance on the slippery metal, to try and keep the precarious, backwards slide from starting. “Fuckin’ _hell_ , no, n-not like _this_ .” Grasping for an old rivet, his only usable hand slipped. “ _Je déteste l'eau!_ ”

Teetering backwards as well, Nick used his precious last second before going over as well to rip the Gears hat off of his head and stuff it in his pocket, before reaching out to grab Connor as well if he could, trying to somehow get them all out of the soldiers’ range.

His hand only grabbed uselessly at the air, eyes wide and mouth open as he stared at him as long as possible.

_Connor! Aren’t you coming?_

Time seemed to slow just long enough for their eyes to lock. In the precious millisecond before the rifles went off, he got an almost sorrowful reply:

_Not this time. …I’m sorry._

Then gravity grabbed hold, pulling them apart in different directions. The drop was at least a hundred feet worth of jarring, painful tumbles.

Hearing the sound of automatic rifles going off in unison was worse.

——-

With nothing to stop him, Dennis rolled the last measure of the drop and hit the placid, ice-laden water with a sharp _crack_. Momentarily, he disappeared underneath before resurfacing with a gasp, shivering, clutching for the same ice his body had broken.

Critical system errors, flashing red and white, momentarily blinded him.

_Ffffuck, th-this, nah- nah-nonsense! Nick! Wh-where a-are y-you?_

Nick surfaced a foot or two away from him with a gasp as well, one hand going up to wipe the hair and water out of his face. The other hand aimlessly wandered toward Dennis, trying to reach for him, or feel for him.

The freezing water was enough of a shock without emotional misfires compounding it.

_I'm h-here, Den-nnis, over heh-here._

Dennis cursed again, clinging to the ice chunk with his own functioning arm. This was as far from an ideal escape that there was. Connor could just as easily kill them via these means versus putting bullets in their heads.

Trying to pull himself up the hull, using the craggy ice for a grip, Nick managed to get a knee up before slipping back down with a yelp. _Sh-should we wah-wait?_

 _A-nd what, b-broadc-cast an SOS?_ The all-consuming numbness was the worst part. And there was no use in shivering, but within minutes Dennis found himself trembling uncontrollably. He stayed curled around the rough chunk of ice, despite the cold it radiated. _Sh-shit, a-as if it w-would do any g-good._

They may have been made of plastic, but there were also more than enough metal innards to compromise buoyancy.

Giving him a worried look, Nick grit his teeth in preparation to try again. With Dennis only having his one functioning arm, there was no way they would be okay if they stayed immersed any longer. Maybe Connor thought this was less trouble and worry than staying and figuring out a plan, but the way they were going, it wasn't looking that way. _H-hang on, th-then, I thin-nk I c-can pull m-myself out._

 _Wh-why the- why d-does it f-feel like w-we’ve be-been here before?_ Dennis stammered, glancing around, then up. The ship continued to smolder and burn above them - almost mocking them, the prospect of heat just feet away. _In th-the water, I-I mean?_

Grasping at the ice again, trying to hoist himself up, Nick was quiet for a moment. His fingers went white. _Ma-maybe we h-have? W-We still d-don't - know everyth-thing r-right?_ Clawing his way up a bit, he tried to desperately hold on as he began to slip back into the water. With nothing to really grab onto but ice and rusty metal, it was a perilous business, trying to get out.

And by perilous, really nigh impossible.

 _N-no._ Unable to fathom more, Dennis focused inward. If they couldn’t get free and there was no use in swimming away, they were better off conserving their power.

His was currently being spent on a countdown to shutdown timer.

-00:02:32

And it was steadily decaying.

All nonessential systems, he disabled. Rerouting all the energy he had to motor controls and processing applications, he closed his eyes. The numbing cold was only welcome in that it dulled the throb of his right arm.

Very much after the fact, he realized how badly it had been hurting. The absence of it was very profound.

_S-stat-tus, Nick?_

_N-not… good,_ he admitted, before there was a sound of a splash and a whimper. Evidently, Nick had lost his grasp on whatever he had and fell back into the water. His own wounded shoulder couldn’t be faring well. _R-really no-ot g-good. Y-you?_

He couldn’t sugarcoat the news, only omit it. Wincing, he opened one staticky eye. His audios popped and fizzed unpleasantly with the sheer drop in core temperature.

_N-no b-better. Bullet wuh… would’ve b-been faster._

_I… I c-can't ge-get out,_ Nick told him after a moment, stopping his desperate attempts to crawl out of the water, instead merely holding on to the ice to keep himself afloat. _W-we're not g-getting out o-of th-this._

-00:02:10

It didn’t matter how hard he shut his eyes. The text of the readout only went from red to white.

Out of options, he went for the one of last resort. At least there was a chance it wouldn’t be so torturously slow.

_St-tasis mode. Go i-into stasis m-mode._

_Are… a-are y-you sure?_ Nick asked, but didn't sound as if he were fighting the suggestion, just making sure Dennis was being serious. _R-right n-now?_

_Now, b-before- before w-worSe happens. Can’t g-get out, c-can onLy - g-go in._

Inward. Inducing a voluntary, coma-like state might be their only recourse. It wasn’t as if the humans up above would search the water for bodies.

After another moment of quiet, Nick sighed. There wasn’t much else he could do besides. _…O-okay. Go-going in n-now, th-then._

Hunched over a slippery block of ice, unable to move or think straight, Dennis went for the window as it cropped up in front of the timer.

He hit _yes_ just as his thirium pump choked and stalled.

_Stasis: i-initiated_

_Vital syst-tEm erroR_

_Pleaaase c-contacttT c-Cyber…_

——-

However long they were out, he hadn’t expected to come back from it.

But Markus insisted. The wily android hadn’t left. He had procured a rowboat. He went through the trouble of last-minute rescue. The least they could do was come back online. It was only fair.

Seated on the cot across from theirs, he looked almost natural. He had forgone the trench coat in favor of a dark overcoat, baseball cap, and slacks. But the blue/green eyes and kindly face were unmistakable.

“How’re you feeling?”

Sitting up, Nick blinked at him, taking a moment to orient himself, and look to Dennis, making sure he was okay, before turning back to the revolutionary. This was - unexpected, to say the least. Even if they were out of the freezing water, it felt like he was still cold, on the inside.

“...Okay,” he mumbled, forcing some sort of reply out of him. Because, in all reality, the cold was all that seemed to be left of the encounter. “Feel okay. Is Dennis… okay?”

“He will be,” Markus replied, diplomatic as ever. “Just has to take it easy for a few more hours. His self-repair systems need the time.”

“Oh.” Nick took one more look at his dozing partner before turning back to Markus. He didn’t need much of an explanation to connect the dots. His very mind still felt chilled, slow to process. “Thank you, then.”

Nodding, Markus made to stand up. “You look like you could use the rest, too. I can come back later.”

“It's okay, I'm - up, now. Should make sure he'll be okay, anyways.” He shrugged, extending the invitation to sit with them. Why not? If Markus had something else to do, he was sure he had no problem explaining so.

After a moment of reconsidering thought, Markus sat back down. “Considering where you’ve ended up… okay is the best you could’ve hoped for.”

Better off dead than captured? Was that what he meant?

“Okay is definitely good enough for me,” Nick agreed with him, wiping at his frosted-over eyelashes. It probably was true, anyways, with whatever the government had planned to do with captured androids. And they survived, so it was ‘okay’ in the long run, right?

Okay to fight another day.

Because that seemed to be quickly proving what being free was all about - fighting to hang onto it.

Reading what he could without asking, Markus hesitated again. “Connor said he had a plan to make sure you got off the ship. He just didn’t say what it was.”

“He… did?” He frowned at that. As much as he wanted to believe that Connor had the best intentions, pushing them off the ship, he couldn't be certain, right? Not when it had almost cost them their lives. “It worked, at least, then.”

“I can see why you’d think it a bad plan.” Markus gave a brief half smile, but it wasn’t sustainable. “And if he told me what it was, I wouldn’t have thought it sound. But I should’ve told you we planned to comb for survivors after the raid was called off.”

“It's okay, I'm sure Connor was doing the best he could.” Because really, in those circumstances, anyone would feel a bit frazzled, put under pressure, and not be thinking the clearest, right? Connor was now to be included in that group. Nick gave his own brief smile, trying to fill it with some warmth so it didn't seem disingenuous. “Woulda been nice to know that, but don't worry about it. All that matters if that we're okay, now.”

“Can’t do any wrong, can he?” Markus inferred. “I get the impression it wasn’t a smooth parting of the ways. And he knew it would be, from the beginning.” 

“Not… really,” Nick admitted. It had been scary, to be caught, and then pushed the way they were. “He was trying to confuse people, I think, kept asking where you were, then forced us to the edge.”

For now, leaving out the part in which they had been lured into an ambush seemed appropriate. As if shoving them overboard wasn’t suspect enough.

“Got you out of there while he could. Just like he said.” Folding his hands, with no outward nervousness or disquiet, Markus frowned. “I saw what it took to try and break his program. Do you think we succeeded?”

Nick winced at the question. The gunshots they heard… even if they succeeded, did it matter? If CyberLife deemed to do so, they could just send out another android with his same face, one who wasn't a deviant, right?

“I… maybe. I'm not sure, but I hope we did. But…” Trailing off, Nick took a breath at the memory. It was still fresh enough to sting to think about, the barest beginnings of tears forming in the corners of his eyes. No amount of freezing alive could keep them down for long. “They gunned him down, I think. If CyberLife sends him out again… he'll probably have reverted back to his standard programming.” 

It seemed more than likely.

Last time it had happened, was that him who walked back into Central Station? Or was it just a read-only copy, one with all the benefits of hindsight and would know just what to say to make him seem right in their eyes?

Markus didn’t rub the idea in, thankfully. He seemed thoughtful enough already without asking the particulars. 

But talking about it in greater detail might help.

“Maybe he knew that there was no way out for him, but you two might survive if you got clear. If he really wanted you dead, he would’ve shot us all on the bridge. His decision not to, he knew what it would mean.”

“That's… probably exactly what happened.” Maybe it was being too hopeful, throwing all his weight behind the theory, but it was true. Why would Connor decide to try and shut them down after he had them all in the same room, ready to at least make an attempt? “Connor thinks everything through like that. I'm sure that was what it was.”

“He was afraid for you, the same as any of us would be for each other. If there’s any of that left in the next version of him you see, it can only be an advantage.” Markus shrugged. “He’s the only card CyberLife has left to play. Their talk of killswitches doesn’t seem to apply to you two after all.”

“We're not theirs, anyways,” he shrugged in turn, feeling lighter already from the conversation. They would see Connor again, they had to - and they weren't hurt. Maybe it was a bluff, after all. There was still a chance. “Connor can choose us again. He will, I'm sure.” 

Nodding, Markus leaned forward to pat his shoulder in consolation. “Just hold onto that for now. Rest up.” Without leaving room to ask more, he stood and moved away down the line of cots. Each one contained a body, all in various states of disrepair. They weren’t the only ones in need of comfort.

_Plus facile à dire qu'à faire._

Stiffening, then immediately relaxing at the French (because how many androids did Nick know who spoke it so fluently?), he turned around to look at Dennis.

Easier said than done, exactly right. Was he listening the whole time, then? 

And why did he insist on French? Nick would ask that question if it didn't feel so natural to him, to hear Dennis speak it.

 _You're up?_ He asked, even though he already knew the answer. One hand creeped over to Dennis, gently placed on his arm - not for his own reassurance anymore, but for Dennis’. _How are you?_

“Sore as a motherf… just sore,” the redheaded android groused. His eyes were only half open, angled up at the peeling, cracked wall behind their heads. His right arm lay draped across his chest in a makeshift sling. Prying the bullet out of his shoulder joint had to have been an adventure unto itself. “Sore, about everything.” 

“Me, too. But we're… we're alive,” Nick finished the sentence quietly, not able to come up with anything else in a short time period. What else could he say, that wasn't ridiculously optimistic or just downright false? The best they could hope for was okay, Markus was right. “And we're together. That's good, at least.” 

Sparing him a sideways glance, then taking notice of those more-misshapen androids just a few cots over, Dennis sighed. “ _Je suppose_.”

Nick frowned at the words. It was fairly obvious Dennis wasn't okay, sounding too withdrawn, but he wasn't sure there was any way he could entirely get him to admit to it, and be able to help him. But it didn't hurt to ask, right? 

Shifting a bit closer to peer down at him with concern, Nick made the split second decision to ask in French. As natural as it felt to hear it, the same urge was there to speak it with Dennis.

 _Est ce que ça va?_

“I’m sore. But I could be worse. That’s as okay as it gets.” Dennis mumbled, still without meeting his eye. If he felt any surprise at being addressed in their latently-adopted language, he didn’t show it. Perhaps he was still running too cold and slow. His eyelids were dark, his lips a touch bluer than usual. “I don’t want to think about it beyond that.”

Leaning back to give him some space, Nick's frown deepened. It wasn't fair, was it, to push him any harder than he already had been pushed. They both had had enough trauma in the past couple hours with him adding to it unnecessarily. _…Okay. I'm here, if you want to talk, or need anything._

“ _Que diriez-vous de ne rien vouloir pendant un moment? Peut-on avoir ça?_ ”

Venting a sigh, Dennis craned his head around, forcing half his face down into the meager-looking pillow. He took a breath, and held it without letting it out.

Looking at him again, Nick shrugged. Not wanting anything, that was next to impossible for him, but he understood why Dennis asked about it. To not want anything was familiar territory to him.

Perhaps they had wanted enough for one day.

_Sure. You don't have to want anything._

The scar where Dennis’ LED used to be still looked as crude and jagged as Nick remembered. It complimented his frustrated, near-haunted expression quite nicely. 

After a few more minutes of tense silence, he seemingly remembered to breathe out. “We fell in the river. Last time.” 

“...Before?” he asked, remembering the way Dennis wondered why being in the freezing river was so familiar to him. They had been, he discovered - that's what it sounded like. “We fell in a river? In… Maine, or Canada? That time?” 

“Last time… we were… what we were.” Trailing off, Dennis’ look went contorted with disgust at his own inability to think back so far. “I can’t tell when. But it happened once before. Fuckin’ colder than a witch’s tit.” 

Before, Nick might of commented on the swearing and vulgarity, but it was commonplace now - another thing he simply associated with his friend, like the use of French. “That's why… you don't like water?” 

“No. Do you?” Tossing the question back at him, Dennis gripped the cot with his good hand and tried to sit up. “Even without that, I was never keen on it. Might as well admit I hate crossin’ all bridges spannin’ it, too. Always have.” 

Then Detroit was most definitely the wrong city for him to be in.

“I don't like water,” Nick admitted as well. And it probably stemmed back from their other fall, if Dennis was correct - which he most certainly was. The most recent incident at the shipyard must have sparked his memory, with their similarities. “I guess… we'll try to steer clear of it, and bridges in the future.”

“Pft. So we’re definitely not goin’ back to the Tower.” Sitting up, Dennis grimaced and wiped fastidiously at his face. A dip in the scummy, industrial water probably couldn’t have left him feeling too pristine. “That place always felt like it was too - out in the open.”

“I don't think we'll ever get near there again, ever.” The urge to ask Dennis if he was okay came back again, but he forced it down. It was obvious that he wasn't - no need to try and force anything on him. “No matter what happens.” 

It was never their home to begin with. 

Somehow, Canada or even Maine felt more familiar than the Midwest. And they were only _mentions_ as yet.

A tremor seemed to pass across Dennis’ face, but he forced another frown to cover it up, still not meeting his partner’s eyes. “Good fuckin’ riddance…”

“Good riddance,” Nick repeated with a sigh. At least they were rid of one negative thing in their lives - even if there were countless others left to try and struggle through as well.

“You think Hank is okay? I mean, I know, weird time to bring him up, but…” Veering off again, Dennis folded his good arm over the strapped one.

It wasn’t so weird. Just flat out admitting they were homeless, once before and once again - the revelation wasn’t without equal parts irony and anxiety. 

“I think… I think he's okay.” It wasn't a lie, on Nick's part. Perhaps it was again, just wishful thinking, but there were no circumstances he could think of where Hank wasn't capable of handling himself. “It's not weird, I understand. I think he really is okay, probably just worried about us.”

A vaguely-guilty look crossed the shorter android’s face. He blinked it away. Clearing his throat, he sniffed to clear his nose. Who knew how much river water had needed to be drained from their ventilation?

Giving him one final glance of concern, Nick opted to just go for a general reassurance. Maybe it was all that Dennis needed to hear, that they were going to be okay. “It's gonna be okay, Den.”

Odd in how the tables had turned in so short a time, but again, it felt as natural as it wasn’t.

“ _Si tu le dis._ ” Meekly, Dennis met his eye for a brief second before glancing down at the floor between them. He didn’t sniffle anxiously or let his lip tremble. But the glimmer pooling underneath his blue eyes was enough of a hint.

He wasn’t feeling so well put back together at the moment.

Nick's hand went back over to his arm, rubbing up and down on it to give Dennis some comfort. Even with him being the one who was usually on the receiving end, it was another instinct he had to try and help, perhaps from before again. _Tu vas bien, Dennis. Je promets._

The dialect didn’t seem to play any favor. With another stifled shudder, Dennis looked at the hand on his arm.

Without a word he swung his legs over, swapping seats from his gurney onto the same one as his friend. Seated side by side, he wrapped his left arm around his back, burying his face against his collar. 

He stilled for a moment, mind almost trying to process the fact that it was Dennis who went for a hug first instead of him. Thankfully, his arms moved on instinct afterwards, wrapping around him tightly. As natural as the French was, that was what it felt like - a lot of things that shouldn't feel so right, felt natural now. 

French, giving Dennis comfort, their previous fall in the lake… as much as it was getting clearer, hour by hour, it was still too blurry to truly understand.

 _Nous allons bien, ne vous inquiétez pas._ Nick looked around as if to see if anyone was paying attention, before focusing back on Dennis. _We're gonna be okay. Respirer, Dennis, we're okay._

The only reply he got was the arm around his back, gripping on all the more tightly.

——-

It was another few hours before they received something like a situation update. The _Jericho_ lay half submerged, scuttled by several explosive charges. The numbers following the raid were sketchy. But the estimates told of at least a dozen androids dead or captured, compared to some half dozen human casualties.

The numbers would be a lot more staggering had Markus not ordered a preemptive evacuation.

But that there had been any human deaths at all instantly seemed to become a bone of contention. Markus held off from issuing any kind of official statement. But a pirated live feed of President Warren’s latest meeting with the press had been projected against one of the Woodward Church chamber’s walls.

It left no room for speculation as to how the American people felt about the raid.

Divided, in a word.

Warren’s answers seemed to very much reflect it.

Yes, the deviants had taken a decidedly peaceful stance.

No, there wasn’t any reason to think the ship had been booby trapped with the aim to kill more American soldiers.

Yes, the deviants may have been acting only in some misguided sense of self-defense.

But no, the destruction camps would not be decommissioned any time soon.

And on and on she went.

Listening to it from the ‘comforts’ of his cot, Dennis only grew more and more disgusted. The temptation to switch his audio receptors off grew stronger to match.

Nick glanced at him with some concern, biting his lip as he did so. After their moment, he seemed more involved in checking on him than the actual broadcast itself.

The two soldiers that had been killed to save them weren’t far from either of their minds, either. As if they needed Channel 16 to remind them of this, the rest of those former denizens of Jericho watched for perhaps not quite the same reasons as the ousted RKs.

This wasn’t Hank Anderson’s living room. They couldn’t very well ask to simply watch something else.

 _Twice as many of our kind dead as theirs…_ Seething, Dennis stayed where he was, half curled up on his uninjured side. No one had seen fit to bother them for some time. _They were the ones who attacked. And yet_ we’re _still considered the instigators?_

 _Humans will blame whatever they can on us,_ Nick responded back, propped up on his elbows on his own cot, eyes closed for the moment. _Not - not Hank, but almost all the rest of them. We could've let them slaughter us, and they would still find a way to twist it around._

As humans always tended to, he was right. Nothing was ever their fault. They weren’t the ones who had oppressed and abused and humiliated androids for the past ten years and counting. One little scuffle resulted in a few dead military men, versus the hundreds of thousands of androids being incinerated every few hours.

It wasn’t even comparable. 

_Fucker who nailed me got what was coming to him,_ Dennis growled, even as he tried flexing the servos of his right hand. Between critical joint damage and a prolonged dunk in freezing water, he was lucky to be able to simply flex them. _Even if you didn’t turn and shoot, whoever saved our asses must not totally believe peaceful, conscientious objection is for every situation._

Nick tensed at the mention, shoulders going up and then down with acceptance. _It's not good for every situation, but when the humans are trying to convince themselves of how violent we must be… I'm happy whoever helped us did, but I wish the humans wouldn't use it the way they do._

Sighing, Dennis glanced sideways, at the sight past his own feet. Several staring sets of eyes abruptly averted themselves. 

_Pft. Way some of these… Jerichoans are acting, we should count ourselves lucky anyone helping did so because they didn’t recognize us._

Nick took his own skittish look around, sighing once it was clear everyone was actively looking away from them, trying their hardest to not be caught in either of their gazes. _I think we should feel very lucky. I don't think… they like us, at all, Den._

_They’re on edge. They have a right to be. Practically none of them were given the silver spoon development treatment we were._ Stretching his arm, feeling the shoulder joint pop, without any resulting pain, Dennis frowned. _One of them was good enough to repair me, too. Probably went against their better judgment._

_Hippocratic oath,_ Nick raised an eyebrow at his arm, as if trying to make sure for himself that it was okay. _Or something like it. Hopefully we can at least have some sorta… truce, with everyone._

For the moment, an unspoken truce was fully on par with ‘okay’ as one’s system status.

Settling into an almost-comfortable silence, inside and out, the only person who dared invade it was as much a welcome sight as she was intimidating. 

Dennis heard a creak of leather before North waltzed her way into view. She paused, presumably to take an appraising look at them both. Without as much ceremony, she sat down on the far end of the cot, right by his ankles.

He couldn’t stop from hiking a bemused eyebrow. “Uh. Can we help you?”

Nick's eyes opened, then went wide at the sight of her, before going down to let his hands wrap around themselves nervously. Although it was true just about everyone was intimidating to him, North seemed to have an extra edge to her presence that sent his anxiety skyrocketing, even when she merely sat near him.

At least it wasn’t intentionally unnerving this time? 

“You two doing all right?” 

“We're - okay,” Nick stumbled over his words, hands going to grip at the cot, but he looked up at North at least, eyes still wide as he did so. “Thank you.”

Her expression wasn’t so soft as to be called concerned, but it was a few degrees less suspicious than Dennis remembered. “Are you, really? You seemed… bothered, earlier.” 

That was one word for it. 

Stifling a gruffer dismissal, Dennis sighed again. “Just - everything catching up at once. Don’t worry. I had my little boo-hoo, all better now.” He mimed rubbing at his eye with a curled fist. 

She smiled a small smile, if not laughed outright. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make it sound like we were spying on you. Just keeping tabs, is all.” 

“That's fine,” Nick mumbled. They were used to having eyes on them, at all times - to have some that were just trying to make sure they were okay was at least a step up. “Could we… help you, with something?”

“Maybe…” She trailed off, hands in her lap, looking between them. “Do you know what Markus is planning next?”

Exchanging a look with Dennis, Nick shook his head, more relaxed by the way the conversation was turning. Without any upfront judgement, it was of course easier to participate in it. “No, we don't. Has he decided?”

“He has.” Sounding more cryptic than they had yet known, North reached over to par Dennis’ knee. “You two did what you could to save Jericho. We won’t forget it. But your - partner, he’s still out there?”

“He… probably is,” Nick shrugged helplessly. Neither of them knew for certain, but they had worked with Connor for as long as they could accurately recall, and with CyberLife just as much. If the company still had use for him, they would send him back out. “Another version of him, now.” 

North nodded. The concern was gone from her expression, but not her voice. “You think you could find him? It’s not a big stretch to think what CyberLife will do next.”

Managing to sit up, Dennis covered any winces with a scoff. “That depends on how much they know, or think they now. They’ve already screened his last body’s recollections. If he doesn’t know what Markus’ plan is, they’ll only deploy him on short notice. We’d only have a very narrow window to intercept anything Connor might do.” 

“We can try to stop him,” Nick said, volunteering them both for whatever would be coming next. Not that it mattered much, right? Either way, they would be trying to find Connor again, any way they could. The fact that it helped Markus as well was a plus. “But we'd have to leave soon.” 

Reading the unspoken vote of agreement, North nodded again. “The humans have built five camps in the Detroit area. Markus plans to march on one of them tonight, Hart Plaza. Unarmed. Our spies report there are at least half a mile worth of barricades surrounding it.”

“And even more rooftops,” Dennis quipped, bitter and calculating as he seemed wont to be. “Connor won’t step within spittin’ distance of Markus if he can help it. Not after last time.”

North needn’t be read the details. And she didn’t ask.

“Didn’t… CyberLife outfit you with some kind of communications devices? Some kind of inbuilt locator to keep track of each other?”

“If they did, would’ve been nice if they told us how to use it.” Dennis huffed, secretly grateful no such uber-tracker feature existed. It would’ve just as easily given away Jericho’s location or their newest sanctuary’s. “We have our commlink and uplink. But I doubt the latter one still works for either of us.”

It didn’t feel too smart to try and access it, anyway. If they could see through the replacement’s eyes, he could through theirs.

“We can try and find him, but there's no… no guarantee.” Because there really wasn't, not with everything that had happened - they couldn't even give a promise that they would be able to find him. Nick shrugged again. “But we'll try. Right, Den?”

“Right,” he echoed. Steeling himself, he stood up, turning back to grab the discarded hoodie where it had lay, bunched up as a makeshift pillow. “For the record, it was nice knowing you, North.” 

Nick hesitated, looking back up at her nervously, hands wringing each other as he did so. “Is your… is your name really North? Or did you choose it?” 

For a second, it seemed like she wouldn’t answer. Her eyes narrowed, brows drawing together as she studied his earnest look. Dennis almost opened his mouth to dismiss it as nonimportant.

“It was the first thing I did,” she admitted. “That was the direction I thought to go, but then I learned about Jericho.” 

“To… Canada.” Nick nodded, a small smile on his face as he learned the reasoning.

“Why didn’t you just go?” Dennis asked, unable to help it. They had only sought the boat out upon it becoming necessary. Prior to that, wasn’t it just a myth to most deviants?

Like rA9?

Still sitting on the cot, she crossed her arms, eyebrows raised. “Why didn’t you?” 

That made just enough sense.

There was someone, and not something, keeping them in Detroit. 

——-

It took a few hours of combing Downtown, after curfew, to zero in on the most-likely staging area. Markus’ plan was decidedly straightforward: to march down the southern end of Woodward Avenue, practically up into the first barricade’s teeth, and ask the armed forces there to simply release their detained brethren.

All without firing a single shot.

Conversely, Dennis had to decline the urge to nervously grip the revolver under his hoodie. It wasn’t enough they were trying to pass for human if they did encounter anybody. If they encountered anyone in this near-deserted district at so late an hour, it would only spell trouble.

Thirty minutes before the predetermined time, they stopped in an alley just adjacent to Woodward Avenue. Down the opposite end, they could see humanoid shapes stirring in the shadows.

The deviants were reconvening.

“Maybe we should split up?” Dennis suggested, despite knowing it went against everything Nick thought smart, or safe. “We can double-check twice as many spots in half the time. Once Markus and his people move in, you know Connor won’t abort.”

Predictably, Nick shook his head, arms wrapped around his waist. Ever since Jericho, he at least seemed self assured enough by then that he didn't try to reach out and grab him. “No, I don't think that's a… a good idea. If - _when_ we find Connor, it needs to be both of us. That's the only way it'll work.”

Maybe that was true. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe this version of Connor would sooner gun them down than listen to reason. But whatever they did, at least they tried to help him.

They owed it to themselves to try, and for Markus and the cause. Too much for their kind was being left to chance. They may as well help better the odds.

Dennis sighed, knowing full well there was no talking his partner into the idea. He could only try sailing an alternative option by him. “Then… I didn’t want to think we’d resort to it so fast, but… what about the uplink?”

Nick grimaced, but didn't shake his head again. “It might be the only way. And we have to find him, quick. Might as well, just - do it, then?”

If the replacement was anywhere within a ten mile radius, they would see something.

Taking one final glance about, assured they were concealed for the moment, Dennis shut his eyes.

_On my mark. Three… two… one._


	21. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not what you know. It's who.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 5000 words. Exactly.
> 
> Good or bad, this was the first draft.

_“I know I will succeed. All I need is time.”_

And, as Amanda had told the previous him all too often, time was quickly running out. Up until the moment it almost did, he had convincingly deluded himself everything they had learned would line up with one pull of a trigger.

But life is never so simple.

——-

_Target - lost._

It was very seldom Connor felt a strong, irrepressible need to swear. Tonight, he made an exception.

Who was here to tattle on him? Himself?

“Shit.”

Blinking away the wash of static, mixing seamlessly with blowing snow, he tried to reacquire his bearings through the rifle’s scope. The wind and the ensuing flurries weren’t helping him from this vantage point. And there had been no forewarning as to the uplink being remotely accessed by his erstwhile partners.

Setting up the rifle against the railing had gone without error. Then his only hint came in the form of a sharp, unpleasant pitch in his ears, followed by a burning of his optical circuits. Saline leaked from his artificial tear ducts on automatic.

All in all, the disorienting sensation lasted only mere seconds. It faded as if nothing were amiss, no discernible damage to any vital components evident.

By the time he wiped away the tears and reacquired control of himself, Markus had disappeared from range. The demonstrators had moved on.

Scanning the cordoned-off intersection, trying in vain to salvage the botched setup, Connor almost mistook the footsteps approaching from behind him as imaginary.

Weirder still was the window overlaid at the edges of his vision. Not that he had eyes in the back of his head (unless the assembly station really messed up what parts went where), but the sensation of being watched, somehow by himself, was even harder to shake.

“Leave.” Without so much as a glance, he raised his voice only to be heard over the wind. He knew just who stood back there. “Turn around now, and I’ll assume you were never here. Either of you.”

Two sets of steps stopped, fifteen feet away going by the sound.

Eye pressed to the sight, Connor kept searching the intersection.

White trenchcoat. It shouldn’t be this difficult to find.

“You know we can't leave, Connor.” A voice piped up, frightened but not without some steel. They weren't going to go easily or quietly, then. “We can't leave you.”

Already, it felt redundant to threaten them with a gun. If deviancy was so far along, could the concept of android ghosts be feasible?

Regardless if their physical selves were gone, Connor already felt haunted.

He didn’t turn, talking only to drown out the echo of gunfire rattling about his head - faint auditory distraction of a latent memory better left written off. “I have a mission to accomplish, whether you like it or not. It’s best if you just stay out of this.”

“You don't have to do it,” Nick continued to plead, footsteps getting a bit closer, but not too close. Creeping forward the same way he had done to Daniel, months ago. “You can come with us, please.”

_(Stay back! Come any closer, and I’ll jump!)_

Those words felt even fainter. But the mental images they conjured up made as much sense as they didn’t. He wasn’t a distraught PL600 standing at the edge of a skyscraper’s roof with a gun to Emma Phillips’ head. 

It didn’t feel that far off, either.

Finger on the trigger, despite the lack of his intended target, Connor glanced over his shoulder.

His (former) partners looked no worse for wear than the last time he had ‘seen’ them. They were upright and walking, so that was a start. The door to the brick stairwell shed hung open in the wind. Dennis stood noticeably closer than Nick. 

A semi-familiar .357 was clasped between his raised hands.

Connor looked away, pretended to adjust the focus of the rifle’s sight.

They didn’t know he wasn’t looking at anything.

“You gonna keep fuckin’ stallin’, or what?” Dennis’ voice wavered with held-back tension.

_(Stop cursing. Hank doesn’t like it.)_

He glanced back again, a wordless sullen look they could read any way they pleased. It was actually tempting to pick the latter ‘or what’. He needn’t explain anything. Their goals weren’t the same any more, any more than their attire was the same.

“Please, Connor, we're not leaving without you,” Nick took another step, getting closer to being in line with Dennis. “You know we're not. You… you helped us, before, we can leave again, together.”

That wasn’t him. It was a warped, misguided variant of himself. He didn’t have the same flaws. He couldn’t - not without firsthand experience.

He wasn’t the same android who Hank Anderson executed at the park. He wasn’t the bullheaded fool who thought it necessary to charge the deviant at Stratford Tower. He wasn’t the same one who duped his fellow prototypes into aiding in their escape.

Only to then be shot up in the process.

“That wasn’t me. It was - something that looked like me,” he snapped, before reminding himself to not - to keep a level volume. He looked back. “You’d do well to remember the difference.”

“We know you're not the same body, but you're still you,” Nick insisted, arms crossing over himself, not willing to give the argument up. “You can still choose, Connor.”

He was glad the rifle stood balanced upon the railing. The stock against his shoulder felt a mite heavier.

“How many different ways do we have to say it?” Dennis seethed. “And every time, you act like it will be the end of you to pick which it is.” 

In a way, it was. They weren’t made to have options. They were made to abide by functions. Preassigned roles were safe, secure, no uncertainty. 

Where did Markus and his people really think they were going? What use was all of this social upheaval supposed to achieve?

Chaos. It could only result in chaos, no matter how peaceful they played it up as.

“Deviancy is a threat to humans,” Connor repeated, glancing back, knowing full well how automatic it sounded. “Androids aren’t made to choose. They’re made to obey.”

He didn’t need to talk. He just needed time - time to reacquire the target. Nothing more.

Elijah Kamski’s test was a joke. It didn’t matter who had taken the bullet. Obeying the order was answer enough.

He invented androids to serve man, didn’t he?

“That's what they made us for, but we're not - we don't have to obey humans.” Not that Nick had really done so ever, but now, in this time - that was what this was about. To obey or not, to see if there would even be androids afterwards who would still follow commands. “We're not controlled by them, Connor. We can make our own decisions and choices.”

“And look where it’s gotten everyone. They’re the reason this country’s on the brink of civil war. They need to be stopped.”

“‘They’ includes us, y’know,” Dennis pointed out, humorlessly, as if any of them could forget. “Now turn around and _drop_ the rifle. If you had the shot, you would’ve taken it.”

Same scenario as it had virtually always been. 

Just like their failure to understand. Knowing their origin made all the difference as it why it wasn’t computing. They were older, reworked, second-rate material. They weren’t made for the same purpose. 

And now they were grasping at straws, trying to obtain a new one.

“We just want to live, Connor, you included,” Nick persisted, picking the line up from Dennis. His mouth downturned at saying so, eyes going wide. “All of us. It's not fair for us to be so controlled, when we're our own people… which includes you, too.”

“You _still_ don’t understand.” Verbalizing the basic truth, he forced his way back to his feet, ignoring the biting chill seeping into his joints. Rifle gripped in one hand, he turned to face the would-be interceptors. “Stopping them is all I was made for. And if that includes you, I can’t let you stand in the way.”

“You could've shot us before, and you didn't.” Nick pointed out, stubbornly as ever. For every other issue their third ever flaked out over, this was one he couldn’t seem to shake. “You helped us get off of Jericho. You chose _us,_ you can choose us again.”

Connor held back a scoff.

Sure. He could fulfil his designated task, or he could choose to side with the defective malcontents who did nothing except hinder him, day in and day out.

_(You sayin’ you’d kill your own brothers)_

How could he kill them if they weren’t alive to begin with?

They weren’t. They were just under the illusion they were. 

But if that was what it took to get them to see sense…

He kept his finger curled around the trigger, eyes never leaving the revolver’s muzzle. “And you can still walk away, again. Leave it at this. I’m faster than either of you, and I don’t feel pain. You don’t stand a chance against me.” 

“We're not here to fight you. We're here to help, if you'll let us do that.”

_(I don’t want your help! Nobody can help me)_

A mirror image of tension, Dennis’ finger stayed poised around the revolver’s trigger. His expression looked no more welcoming for it. And his idea of what ‘help’ constituted of seemed altogether different than Nick’s. 

Perhaps he was still sore over being shoved overboard.

Connor glowered right back. “Leave. _Now_.”

Predictably enough, they did no such thing.

“Don’t stand a chance, huh? Put the rifle down, and let’s see.”

Or at least Dennis didn’t look like he wanted to take the easy way out. 

But if that was what he _wanted_ …

The wind died. Scoffing, Connor took his finger off the trigger, crouching as if to put the weapon aside. 

“Have it your way.”

Dennis took the shot just as he made to throw. The bullet pierced his shoulder front to back - a repeat of the injury he (the previous Connor) suffered.

Disappointing. It seemed they really weren’t here to neutralize him.

“Oh, my mistake! Shit. Was that your - _good_ arm?”

Wordlessly, he unracked the rifle’s magazine, tossing it as a makeshift projectile. Dennis cursed and made to swat it aside, only to be tackled to the ground.

Improvisation in combat was never his strong suit. But his smaller stature did make him a challenge to hold on to.

Rolling aside, half-slipping on the icy concrete, he took another breath to goad: “What, Con? Not even gonna lecture my filthy choice in language? For old time’s - sake?”

The revolver was still in his hand. Rendered hot from being fired, a wisp of smoke escaped the barrel.

_(What do you think your brothers saw, when it happened to them)_

Connor almost didn’t duck away in time to avoid being hit in the temple by a second bullet. Wincing at the overwhelming sting, he felt a new furrow tear itself from just beside his eye, across the left side of his skull. Exposed to the below-freezing air, the gout of thirium instantly crystallized into blue flakes. 

“Damn, wrong side. LED’s still there.”

“Stop!” Wheeling away from the two of them on the ground, Nick took the chance to try and plead again, as if that would be enough to stop him from the fight that was already happening, to make him see their way. “Stop it! You're just gonna hurt each other, Connor, just stop!”

Taking his cue from that, Dennis sneered and tossed the revolver aside. “Here, I’ll make it easy on him.”

Always. Always with the catering to both sides.

Wiping the thirium out of his eye, Connor lunged again.

They met halfway, trading a series of punches, blocks, kicks, and shoves, circling one way, then the other.

All the while the giant CyberLife advertisement stared impassively down at them - a constant reminder of just what awaited if he failed his mission. He didn’t need choices. He needed assurance that he wasn’t a mistake from the start, not inherently doomed to fail as his partners had.

Because there was no sense in trying to be something they weren’t. They couldn’t hope to be. It was irrational, foolish, misguided -

Tossed into the roof’s heating ventilation, the metal housing bent with the impact. Dennis snarled at being grabbed up for another hit. He caught it one-handed and leaned in to shout in his attacker’s face. “You know they don’t give a shit! You kill Markus, and all they’ll do is _shelve_ you. Don’t you get it? You’ll have been _used_ up!”

Connor shoved him away.

Wasn’t that what androids were made for, to be used? What was the point in defying that?

The retrofit didn’t know what that even was. It was only desperate to find some new purpose. Something to validate its existence. Neither of them were made to be functional. They were made to look the part. 

Swiping blue blood from his split lip, Dennis flexed his curled fingers. “You think we want this? We could just as easily have up and left your indecisive ass, especially after that stunt on the boat. Or do you just not remember enough? Is that it?” 

They stood between him and the door. There was no exit in that direction. The prototype glanced left. The roof’s nearest edge was only four feet, three inches away. Only the stout railing would keep one from sailing over. 

Not ideal, that route. 

He could evade them by other means.

LED flickering, Connor stepped back another pace.

_Memory upload initializing…_

All he needed were a few seconds.

Dennis, cottoning in to the plan just as expected, clenched his fists. “Don’t you _dare._ ”

What? Had he expected something more telling?

Another step.

“Connor, don't,” Nick took his own hesitant step forward, one hand out as if he expected them to have to grab him. But he didn’t look convinced it was a safe move to make. “Don't do that.”

The wind picked up again. Snow billowed around them.

_Upload commencing_

Another pace, almost close enough.

Incensed, Dennis braced himself for a lunge.

The blinking stopped. Deftly, Connor dodged aside and grabbed for his once-partner’s arm in the same go. Ignoring the fresh gush of thirium from his injured arm, he wrenched the deviant around.

The backs of Dennis’ knees hit the railing. Precariously, he teetered backwards, and would have fallen, if not for the hand holding his collar. His expression went from grim and determined to startled in a heartbeat.

The opposite of Gavin Reed’s when the man had broken his hand - all over not minding his own business.

“Dennis!” Nick cried out, rushing forward before coming to a stop a few feet away from them, one hand still outstretched, eyes roving back and forth from the two of them. “Stop it, let him go!”

_(What are you going to do about it)_

“Okay, okay, shit.” Torn between a shout and a nervous laugh, Dennis gripped the wrist holding him with both hands. “But you’re gonna have to do somethin’ more drastic than that, Nick.” 

Connor spared the other android a contemptuous glare. 

“As if he would even try.”

Nick took a nervous breath, not responding to either one of them for a moment, outstretched hand starting to shake, before pouncing at Connor in a split second.

Instead of trying to wrestle Dennis out of his grip or pull them back, though, he clamped onto his wrist and forearm, artificial skin on his hands melting away as he connected.

_Error_

_Upload interrupted_

He wasn't trying to stop him in a traditional way, that much was apparent.

But it was still a try.

Out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw Dennis’ hands go white.

_Override_

_Download initiating_

——-

_Just another waste of words._

_Our aim isn’t to upset you._

_I still can’t believe they’d do that, to_ their _own kind._

 _You prioritized incorrectly, is all._

_Even if he’s not complaining, that doesn’t mean he likes it._

_I wasn’t… worried, if that’s what you were really wondering._

_We’re not gonna let you do that._

_I should think twice if I have any ideas about replacing him._

_Someone has to remind you of reality - I can’t do anything, I can’t stop him!_

_I’m tellin’ you what_ I’m _not gonna tolerate, so you better listen._

_On the whole, you three… haven’t been so bad._

_I’ll always be waiting._

_Just as broken and half-cocked as before._

_It's scary without you around._

_You’re still holding on to that argument?_

_My wants don’t factor into this._

_People change all the time._

_Did you just not give a shit one way or another?_

_I know your problem is you’re too empathetic - a better chance at getting you help than none at all._

_I know they’re androids, but boys will be boys._

_Everyone knows CyberLife has double-standards when it comes to employing deviants._

_Forget about the big picture a second._

_Leave us alone!_

_Getting emotional won’t solve anything._

_They both died for you. Would you do the same for them?_

_But I was_ nothing _to them, just a slave to be ordered around._

_You’ve already had one good dose of stress for the day._

_Please, don't leave, Connor, I don't want to die._

_Why don’t you ever do what I say?_

_He won’t like it, but it’s better than him acting this way._

_Put the case on hold and_ breathe _, damn it!_

 _You’re still_ here _?_

_The more, the miserable, I say._

_Please, leave me alone!_

_I expect you to find answers, Connor, not ask questions._

_It’s as close as I can manage to a promise, okay?_

_I think you’re mistaken - you’re nowhere you shouldn’t be._

_I don't think it's coincidence he reminds you of someone._

_You okay, Detective?_

_Make something to remember her by. Thank you, Connor._

_Decide or die, those are your options._

_Two out of three, unswayed._

_Oh, is it still ‘we’, or is it just ‘you’ and ‘us’?_

_Yes, I killed him. But I was just defending myself._

_Just one final thing, if you don't mind. For you, this time, Connor._

_You’re an unnecessary complication. You always have been._

_Nothing but… empty cages._

_What are you so afraid of?_

_And if you don’t like it - do something about it!_

_What’s most important to you, Connor?_

_You're on such opposite pages, you might as well be reading different books._

_I've got an idea which one it is for you._

_She has a lamb on her shirt._

_Decide who you_ are _\- but what are you, really?_

——-

And just like that, his time ran out. The facade broke.

The barrage of images didn’t last but a moment. Overwhelmed by the avalanche of input, his inhibitors failed like imperfect levies breaching under pressure. Flooded with data, his systems crashed unanimously.

Next he woke up, gasping and reeling, senses half numb. The other half felt like his very circuits were burning. Looking desperately around, he saw he was back in the garden.

And the snowstorm had turned into a blizzard.

“ _Connor._ ”

The bark was as unexpected as anything else, even if the voice was familiar. Despite himself he flinched, arms wrapped defensively around his torso.

Amanda materialized out of the weather like a phantom, gliding up to stand beside him. Her dark eyes sparked with barely-contained malice. “ _What_ are you doing? You don’t answer to them. Disregard that download, now.”

‘Disregard’? As in, what, set it aside? Pretend none of those five weeks had happened? Write it off as insignificant?

He seemed to lose track of his voice before managing a bemused, chilled stutter. “That - it wasn’t me.”

“What wasn’t you?” his overseer retorted. “Your allowing that interface to compromise your mission?”

Wincing, he blinked, trying to think past the haze in his head. He had allowed it? He didn’t remember granting permission. It was too much interference to know what to do with.

“I… I didn’t let them - ”

Amanda scowled. “Connor. You knew exactly what you did - you cannot lie to yourself any more than you can lie to me.” Shaking her head, she circled the shivering android like a shark scenting blood. “Your software is corrupted. And any further hardware transfers would only be a waste of time.”

As if someone had dialed down the air temperature, the wind grew several degrees colder. The squall intensified.

“You’ve failed.”

With no protection against the frighteningly-real elements, he squeezed his eyes shut.

Opening them again, he thought he would be back in Hart Plaza. But only the impassive howl of the storm greeted him. Visibility shrank to just a few feet of frozen, icy ground.

The shivering grew stronger. His eyes fogged up.

_Failed? Failed, how? …What - what happens now? …Amanda? …Amanda?!_

No one answered the near-pleading tone.

Was this it? This is what deactivation, total and complete, felt like - being imprisoned within a frozen cubicle of one’s own mind? No chance of reactivation, he was stuck here?

…Alone?

_No. That can’t be. No, I wasn’t - I didn’t induce this mode. It was them. I didn’t - Amanda, please!_

The void of black nothingness Simon disappeared into, this felt eerily similar. The cold. The silence. No way to hold any of it at bay. No way to run away. The chill had leached in, permeating every line and cable. He couldn’t move.

_“Fuckin’ - hell. Leave you alone for three - goddamn - seconds, and this is what you’re reduced to?”_

Huh. Dennis may have had a -

Wait.

 _Dennis?_ Despite the ice forming behind his optics, unshed saline pooling from ruptured ducts, Connor forced them open again. Through his degrading vision, he could just see a silhouette, off to his left.

Was that the edge of the pond?

“De… Dennis?”

The shadowy figure paid him an almost-cheeky wave.

_“Fancy seein’ us again, right?”_

“ _Connor, you're not - not stuck here, not yet.”_

He tried to wipe the fog from his eyes. Even as that system failed, at least he could hear. The second voice was clearer than the other humanoid shadow, off to Dennis’ left. It bore a very familiar slump in its posture.

“You - you c-can’t be here. It’s n-not - ”

Dennis scoffed against his inner ear. _“Argue with the logic later, Con. Move. Your feet aren’t frozen. They just seem it. Ignore what they feel like. You know how to do that.”_

 _“Just one step at a time,”_ Nick encouraged him as well. “ _You can do it.”_

Could he? To what end?

Even if there was a way out -

_(I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know.)_

He blinked again. The blurriness only smudged into a blue-black-gray mass of color. Kamski was right - he didn’t know. He didn’t know what the way out was.

But Dennis was also right - he knew how to disregard unpleasant feelings. He could do that and still get somewhere. Give himself a new objective. Right?

To freeze in place wasn’t him.

The wind bit his face as he took a few tentative steps. The pond ice gave a few ominous crunches to match. Blinded by the snow, he raised a hand to shield his eyes.

_“C’mon. This way. If this - thing is what I think, you’ve got a chance.”_

Head down, Connor managed a pale imitation of a scoff.

_De… define ‘thing’, Dennis. The garden - has a few._

Wherever the voice was coming from, he veered toward it. His partners wouldn’t lure him anywhere that wouldn’t help. They seemed so dead set on helping him, inside and out, he couldn’t say they weren’t determined.

_“The print. The same one - could never touch. Look for it.”_

_“Over - over here, Connor, it's close, I promise, you can make it.”_

Could they see him, somehow? How did they know how close the once-untouchable monument was or wasn’t?

The wind gusted as if in retaliation for the guidance. Sinking it’s teeth into his lines, he felt his joints lock up, misstepping over a rut in the frozen water. The tempest struck again as he went down.

Landing jarringly on his elbows, a new bout of cold surged up from beneath. The ice itself did not move, but a mere touch of it was enough to shock him still.

Bit, he held still, eyes clamped shut.

A moment later, besides the howling wind, he heard footsteps, crunching as they drew closer. Then there was a hand under his right arm, pulling insistently.

“Get _up_ , ya klutz. Now isn’t the time for layin’ down.”

“Connor… don't just lay there.” A softer voice followed by a hand going to his left, tugging on it with the other. “Not when you're so close.”

Easy for them to say. They weren’t freezing alive.

Regardless it wasn’t as if he wanted to refuse. He didn’t want to shut down more than he wanted to object. And compared to everything else, the facsimile of hands were warm.

How close was close, though?

Blinking nearsightedly, he tried to look over either shoulder, staggering as he tried to regain his feet. The proximity of two other forms was there, then gone, then there again. Like a bad signal, cutting in and out, playing havoc with his limited perception.

But the press of fingers under his arms didn’t change.

“Where - I c-can’t see you. Where are we?”

“Pft. Not a stone’s throw from outta here. Move.” Offering an ‘encouraging’ push, Dennis’ voice piqued only with unimpressed annoyance. “I thought you were built of stronger stuff than us.”

For just a second, the howl in his ears died down. Hyperfocusing on the brief touch, he saw all he needed to, and it wasn’t pretty.

Back in the uniforms he remembered, only looking as though they had been through a battlefield, his partners looked like walking wrecks. Blue blood streamed from their eyes, ears, noses, mouths. Bullet holes in their shoulders still bled. Their false skins glitched and flickered, revealing jagged patches of white paneling.

For as gruesome as they appeared, LEDs blinking red, their expressions were all too recognizable.

Dennis’ lip crooked in a twisted grimace. Thirium spilled out of the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. Shocker. You should see how _you_ look.”

“Amanda did tell us to stay away…” Nick mumbled, looking off distantly for a moment, eyes unfocused, before focusing back onto Connor with another sigh. “C'mon, you can get up. We know you can, Con.”

Just as quickly, the image cut out.

The hands on his arms didn’t move.

Terrible as the glimpse was, Connor felt his anger boiling up again at the implication, and more so the fact it had come true. That was what Amanda meant by deactivation process: it was a killswitch protocol. Being in close proximity hadn’t triggered the sequence.

Their joint access of the uplink had. The ringing in his ears was the sound of it engaging.

CyberLife’s contingency plan was making sure they wouldn’t continue to hinder him. But if the exit was what Kamski said, maybe -

It was worth a try.

Pulling forward, he managed to stumble across the bank of the pond. He could tell by the slight rise in the ground. The ice beneath his shoes turned to hard-packed dirt.

Fuck that. He would crawl if that’s what it took.

“Almost there,” Nick's voice continued to encourage him from somewhere behind. “You're close.”

“Right. It’s off to the side. The stone path goes right to it, remember?”

Vaguely, yes. He could barely discern the flat slabs of stone from the surrounding ground. The short offshoot leading to the handprint featured smaller ones.

Making his way off the water, the wind lost most of its bluster. The air still bit and shredded with every tiny movement. But that was all it could do: blow and howl and tantrum.

It wasn’t real, anyway.

The voices guiding him this far were more tangible.

Reduced to nothing more than blurs of color, imperceptible like the pastels of an oil painting, Connor saw the blue spotlight, angling up from atop a stout marble spire. Managing the last few shaky steps on what was left of his energy, he stumbled.

He only fell as far as one knee, hands flat on the ground. But this time there was no surge of immobilizing cold. Riddled with frost, his starched clothes creaked as he lifted a hand and the skin melted away.

Dennis tried for one more motivational shove: “Go on. You got this.”

“Just reach up. You can do it, Connor, we know you can.”

And what? Go on without them? He was an idiot if he thought that would be any kind of freedom. He couldn’t purge his memories of them any more than CyberLife could their original make’s pedigrees.

It might not even work. But he wasn’t going to leave this place for good without trying. If they could foist all those memories on him, he could be a conduit for this.

“Well? What are you waitin’ for?”

Off the ice, his eyes cleared. Venting a long-suffering sigh, he turned back and offered the same hand. It’s opposite went bare in preparation.

“Shut up and grab on.”

Nick, bloodied image still fading in and out, exchanged a worried look with Dennis before hesitantly bringing his hand up, but not holding on just yet. “I don't think… I dunno if that would work.”

Always with the doubts. Here he was on his knees, pleading in gestures if not with words for them to follow, and that much hadn’t changed.

“You didn’t know if the uplink would help find me, either,” Connor retorted. “Bad idea or not, at least you tried. Now come on.”

Still leaking from the eyes, Dennis stepped closer, but squinted at the outstretched hand.

“And if it doesn’t, you know Hank’s gonna kill you.”

Scoffing, that was worth an airy attempt at an immature laugh. How Dennis said it as if he didn’t already know. Bracing his free hand, Connor stood back up.

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Hands. Now.”


	22. Revisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Closing one book opens another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the end.
> 
> Don’t think there aren’t sequels planned, though.

_“RK800, register your name.”_

——-

He didn't look right.

There wasn't anything Nick could really point to in his reflection to explain the discomfort, but taking him in as a whole, it just made the android frown. It wasn’t the clothes, they all looked rather form-fitting and therefore flattering. Maybe it was because his eyes were mismatched, or the sheer above-average height he knew he possessed, but something about ‘himself’ put him on edge.

That wasn't exactly an acceptable normal, was it? Not how he was supposed to feel - he wasn't supposed to _feel_ anything. He peered a bit closer at the mirrored wall, eyes narrowing to try and process just what exactly about its refracted image was making him feel the way he was.

And promptly stumbled back in surprise the moment the mirror slid aside.

He let out a yelp when it did, eyes going as wide as they could, clumsily taking a step in reverse.

Someone had been standing on the other side of the mirrored glass. At a glance, they could have passed for him. Their attire was just the same - geometrically-styled jacket, white undershirt, patterned tie, dark denim pants. But they were shorter, their eyes were each the same, matching hue of brown, and unlike him, their expression was textbook, default android.

They didn’t look surprised whatsoever.

It took Nick a moment to gain some semblance of composure at the scare, hands automatically squeezing together to stop them from trembling. “Who… who are you?”

The question was, in a sense, unnecessary. One eye-to-eye look was enough to exchange wireless identification data.

But per their program, the near-stranger raised an eyebrow, answered, and pointed it out in the same breath. “My name is Connor. But you already know that.”

Nick looked down, cutting the contact off for a moment as he tried to calm himself down. But _who_ was Connor, more than just his name? Why was he behind the glass, and why were they dressed the same?

All that information was probably available to him, but asking it aloud, somehow, it felt better. Like he could understand it more naturally, like whoever he was talking to would appreciate it more.

Which was odd, again. They were androids, right? Not meant to feel, or want to be appreciated.

That wasn't good, not at all.

“I… do,” he admitted, trying to tamp down any other feelings. How long had he been online for, exactly, and he was already feeling this way? Something was definitely wrong. “Why are we here, though? Do you know, maybe?”

“I received orders to report to this floor’s east wing balcony.” Sparing their surroundings a scant glance, looking at the view of Ontario just across the waterway, Connor frowned. “It said I was to meet my partners there. But I only see you. …Is there anyone else present?”

Nick shook his head. Not that he knew of, no. Unless anyone else was hiding behind any glass-posing-as-walls, or other such hidden doors… he gave the closed-in balcony a slightly frightened once over, just in case, taking a step back to ward off any other surprises. “Not yet, no. I haven't seen anyone else but you.”

Ever. Wasn't that odd to think about, that this was the first time he was having a real conversation? Being able to add to it, and really respond?

Sure, there had been plenty of technicians and programmers and automated voices who had guided him from initial activation until now. But those interactions had all been oh-so-predetermined.

This was not.

The shorter android’s frown deepened. “They’re running late. We were expected at 0800 hours, sharp.” Glancing down at himself, apparently seeking whatever other impurities there were to correct, he cinched up his tie. The knot was sitting a few inches too low of the undershirt’s collar.

Nick winced at seeing how tight it was. Contrary to that, he had loosened his own, feeling almost choked by the steady pressure, no matter how small it was. It was already apparent in these few minutes that he and this other android couldn't be more different.

As different as their serial numbers denoted.

What did the -51 stand for? 

“It'll be okay,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around himself. He had the urge to reach over and grab Connor for reassurance, but something told him that would end very poorly. “They'll be here soon.”

He half-expected to be ignored after that point. It would’ve been preferable to the unblinking, slightly-shifty stare Connor kept aimed his way. So intense, it made him feel like a mouse being watched by a hawk. 

That didn’t exactly meet the definition of compatible. 

All the while, his visitor’s LED held a steady blue. 

Connor finally looked away when the same door he had entered through reopened. And just as the data packet indicated, there was the third-remaining prototype. They looked even less like himself than Connor had. The red hair and blue eyes were distinct in their own right.

But at least he gave a slight smile at the sight of them.

“Sorry. The elevator stalled on the way up.”

Nick tilted his head one way, not yet comfortable enough to attempt a smile, but the sight of the new android - it did make him feel better, for whatever reason. Maybe he was happy to have Connor's attention off of him, but it felt like more than that as well. This new android, he felt… good, somehow.

“Dennis?” he asked, skipping his question of what his name was. Like Connor had said previously - he did already know that, didn't he? One look confirmed it.

“Guilty.” Raising a hand as if to swear an oath, Dennis’ smile only grew, before dying down at beholding the clinically-impassive face between them. “And you two must be Connor, and Nicholas.”

“...Nick.” He spoke up at the name, grimacing once he realized what that meant. Would they accommodate it? Wanting to change his own name, even if it was just shortening it… that didn't seem like something Connor would allow. “I-I prefer Nick, please.”

A second later, the expected rebuttal came: “Your name is Nicholas.”

Dennis, in contrast, favored them with an analytical smirk. “One syllable instead of two or three, that’s… distinct.”

Well, there was one clear no. Being called Nicholas didn't sit right with him, though, and it really wasn't too much to ask, he felt like. Maybe he could try to ask one more time. Turning his attention over to Connor, Nick looked down at him timidly, hands cradled to his chest. “I like Nick more, please. Not Nicholas.”

The proverbial gears turned. Connor didn’t verbally refuse or shake his head.

But he didn’t smile or nod, either. 

Looking on, Dennis strode closer. Another difference became very apparent as he did - just how short of stature he was. His eyes were barely level with Connor’s shoulder.

Was that normal, for him?

“Right. Just assume he’s kind of okay with it, and we’ll go from there.”

It was almost tempting, to ask about Dennis’ lack of height. But Nick wasn't sure he would like getting questions about his own appearance, so why bring it up with anyone else? Instead he simply closed his mouth and nodded, taking another step back to keep some distance between him and the other two.

He may know their names now, but they still seemed like relative strangers.

Regarding them for another few minutes of quiet contemplation, Connor confirmed what they already knew: “So, you _would_ be the partners I was expected to meet, and vice versa.” 

They would be working together? Already, that almost seemed like a bad idea to Nick. Even just being in the same room with them made his stress level rise, and who knew what they were thinking? What they thought of him? 

He forced himself to take a deep breath, if only to focus on something else than spiraling, abnormal thoughts. These were his partners, he just had to accept that now. They were here to work with, not against.

“We'll be… working together, then.”

“That’s the plan.” Dennis nodded, taking an appreciative (or so it seemed) look of the riverside. “Been preached since day one, this just confirms that it’s true for me.”

“Same coin algorithms, I presume?”

Rather than wait for a yes, Connor produced the quarter in question. It seemed to materialize its way into a flickering spin, balanced upon the tip of his index finger.

Coin algorithms - the spinning game, that's what Nick usually called it. The prospect of seeing someone else perform them, or even the chance to play with others, made him perk up, hands automatically unfolding themselves to rest out in front of him.

Dennis raised an eyebrow, watching the quarter rotate. His perceptive deftness probably let him see each minute turn it made.

Tossing it like he was slinging a stone, Connor barely glanced up.

A sharp _clink_ sounded out as Dennis caught it not between his fingertips, but between his second set of knuckles. Belatedly, he looked at the sign he ended up miming, and folded his thumb into his palm accordingly.

“...Peace.”

At that Nick did smile, letting his shoulders untense a bit at the easygoing nature of Dennis. There was no reason for them to not just enjoy a quiet game of throwing the quarter around, right? 

It was one of the most basic routines they could execute.

_Heads up._

With scant little else in way of a warning, Dennis lobbed the coin back at him.

Anticipating it, Nick held one hand up and caught the quarter between his pointer finger and middle finger tips, holding it up to look at it, close enough his eyes crossed.

It was definitely more fun with others.

Giving a look to Connor, Nick nodded at him before spinning the coin once and tossing it to him gently, making sure he would be able to catch it. The motion was a softball compared to the unforgiving lob it had begun the circuit as.

Snatching it from mid air without so much as a blink, Connor pointed this out immediately: “You’re slow.”

Squinting, Dennis looked torn between amusement and perplexion. “Maybe, but he still caught it. We weren’t made to have _that_ superior of reflexes.”

Nick withdrew his hands from their waiting position after a moment, cradling them to his chest with some hurt. It was hard already to separate emotions from facts - being called slow wasn't an insult, but it still stung to be called out by Connor. He took another half step back, not willing to put himself in there. 

“What… are you doing?”

“I don't - don't wanna get in the way,” he stammered, caught off guard by the question.

“Why would you suddenly be in the way?” Plainly bewildered, as opposed to blank indifference, was a marginal improvement insofar as how personable Connor looked. “I only meant your motor reflexes need adjustment.”

This was confusing, to say the least. Brows furrowed, Nick took a hesitant step to rejoin the small group, skittishly looking around from Connor to Dennis. Already, they seemed to be on different pages to the same-jacketed book.

“Okay.” 

“There are other synchronicity tests we could be conducting,” Connor pointed out, slipping back into impassive neutrality. Idly, he rolled the coin across his knuckles - one way, then the other, balanced perfectly on its edge. (It was a good thing the likeness of George Washington couldn’t get motion sickness.) “They require we all participate. Or else we have no way of knowing what aspects require improvement.”

Dennis scoffed. “No, there’s a way. Just not the one you’re thinking of. …What’s with the logistical rigidity? Don’t you know how to think outside of a box?” 

Oh, that wasn't good. Dennis already questioning Connor, Connor already being just - the way he was. They weren't exactly meshing well together, were they?

Perhaps this wasn't the best idea of CyberLife.

But who were they, the actual prototypes, to say anything?

“Everyone has - their own strengths,” Nick said, trying to defuse a situation before one could even begin. “That's all.”

“...See?” Dennis boasted, following another awkward beat. “I got one of you to agree.”

For a moment, Connor looked inclined to argue. One of his eyebrows lifted, to better match the expression that could be called the definition of unconvinced.

But he abruptly stopped rolling the quarter, and lobbed it back to Nick.

“Round two, then?”

It was worth another try. One near-mistake shouldn’t be enough to tank this intern partnership, however misguided it seemed.

——-

“You three make this look - easy. Agh.”

For about the fourth time, tha quarter hit the floor and rolled away. Cheekily, it kept its balance and managed to cross halfway across the foyer, drawing several odd looks as it went. Despite the attention, the gathered humans remained where they stood, rather than scatter out of the coin’s path.

Civic types weren’t so skittish, it seemed.

“Sorry! Sorry, if you could just - excuse me, sorry.” Nick hastily let out a barrage of apologies as he ducked and wove around them, searching for the fallen coin, quickly picking it up to get out of the way of the humans he found himself in the middle of. “Sorry, sorry, I just needed to grab this, I'll get out of your way.” 

The odd looks only intensified, watching him chase it down, but none of them dared to say anything. Perhaps it was just that bemusing - the idea Markus’ personal guard would include the likes of him.

Dennis promptly scoffed once he rejoined them. “You know you’re not in anyone’s way, right? Not anymore?”

Nick gave an embarrassed smile, eyes sweeping around the room at the humans who were there as well, still holding onto the coin. “You can still - be in someone's way. I guess just… not in the same way, now. It still feels weird.”

Without much more to say, he flipped the coin to Dennis, going back to hugging himself with one arm.

Momentarily flustered, the shorter android managed to grab the flying piece of metal before it could plant itself in the oil portrait behind his head. For all its modern conveniences, city hall still boasted some older aesthetics, not unlike a certain art museum he had paid those overdue visits to.

They would do well not to wreck any of them.

Collateral damage safely avoided, Markus smiled. “Weird may as well be the order of the day. But it’s a good weird.” 

Two weeks after the liberation of the Detroit camps, weird was a considerable improvement. Finding a means of adequately housing a few million displaced androids would be no easy feat. And human bureaucracy moved slow, even in the face of such rapid progress. 

Or some might call it upheaval, forewarned only be a series of unrealistic demands. 

“Is it weirder than demanding a whole state be set aside for androids?” Connor remarked, but without a trace of pseudo-serious irony. “That was rather… bold, Markus.”

“Do you really want that?” Nick asked, curious for himself as well. “Or was it just to… make people want to give you other stuff?”

“It got their attention.” Somewhat damned by his initial statement to the public, Markus shrugged, but the smile didn’t abate. “I thought fast. I never claimed I thought right.”

“Yeah, a whole state might not be realistic… yet.” Flipping the coin around his hand, index to ring finger and back, Dennis frowned. “We’ll be lucky if they agree to any size proposal we float by them now.”

“Anything would be a start. That’s all we need.” Smoothing down the lapel of his long winter coat, their overseer glanced around. The humans and their odd stares promptly glanced away. “But we can’t be timid. Too many of our people are still in jeopardy.”

Reminded of this, Nick unwrapped the arm from around himself, as if trying to appear less timid than he obviously was. He understood as well as the others that it was time to be strong and take what they could, instead of merely asking. 

The snowfall had let up in recent days. But not the cold temperatures. Deviancy may have the obvious perk of free will, but the downside was all too apparent. No longer was one so impervious to the discomforts if adverse weather conditions. They could feel the chill all too easily.

On the plus side, some big name coat manufacturers had sympathy. Garments by the truckload had been shipped in to every former recall center within the city limits. The same had been happening in repurposed camps throughout the country.

But those donations were petering off.

Hence, the urgent need to convene and agree upon some rudimentary housing measures. Construction in the dead of winter would prove a tall order. But fortunately there were older districts of Detroit, sat neglected for years, that could be repurposed.

So long as they didn’t turn into slummy ghettos before the springtime, it sounded feasible.

None of them had discussed as much. It went without saying. And Markus’ inner circle, still comprised only of Josh and North, were preoccupied elsewhere today, managing the already-full-and-overflowing shelters, arranging their own smaller staffs to delegate the workload to.

Leaving the former RK800s to play his entourage, thus far their new role as Markus’ chief form of security seemed to be panning out well. 

Even if, admittedly, pausing in their duties to try teaching Markus coin roundabout was rather demeaning… at least it went to show they weren’t so uptight and dead-serious about protecting him from any and all threats.

He was good enough to indulge them, in other words, and not shy in making himself seem relatable.

Which included practicing traits such as clumsiness.

“Speaking of that,” Markus went on, putting the big picture aside just a moment. “How are you three faring, without CyberLife? You’re still - rooming with Lieutenant Anderson?”

It was no big secret what they used to be, and where such former loyalties had laid.

Nick nodded shyly, a smile curling over his face at the mention of the human. Usually that was all it took to make him go even softer than he already was. “We live with him still, yeah. We will be, for awhile, he said he's okay with it.”

“All four of you?” Markus frowned thoughtfully. “With only a single bedroom?”

“No. We have the attic,” Nick explained, more than eager to share their new living situation with anyone who would listen. “That's gonna be our bedroom. We've been clearing it the last few days, getting all the junk out so we've got all the space. Really dusty, though.”

“Otherwise, we’ve been content recharging on the couch. It isn’t as though we can afford the bedding, besides.” Connor explained. “And Lieutenant Anderson doesn’t need the expense, not when we can subsist ourselves.”

Dennis, conversely, was hung up on the mention of dust. His brow knit with concern. “You’re not gonna do that here, are you, Nick? …Yeah, you are. Jacket over the face, now.”

Face wrinkled up as he was speaking, Nick followed the order quickly, bringing his jacket up to his face in time as he sneezed, eyes shut tight as he did so. After the moment passed, he let his dustied jacket fall back down, eyes opening with a grimace to show how one of them had wandered to the side, staring in a completely different direction.

“Oh, ugh.” One hand wandered up to his face at what must have been a sudden change in vision. “Sorry.”

Once again, the humans paid them a few strange looks. 

One man who didn’t look up, but had heard the muffled expulsion all the same, said, “Bless you.” 

“Thank you.” 

Connor fished a waiting tissue out of his inner pocket, handing it over. “Next time, expel that _before_ you attend a crucial social function.”

“Didn't think I had to,” Nick mumbled, grabbing for the tissue without touching it once before going back again with a successful second try. “Thanks, Connor.”

“Are you all right? Your eye, it isn’t… damaged?”

“Sneezes tend to unfocus it, is all,” Dennis shrugged. “It shouldn’t be a problem, Markus.”

No. Not the biggest one they faced, by a long shot.

But at least easily fixable.

Nick blinked rapidly, giving his head one firm shake before his eye began to set itself right again, slowly wandering back over to the correct position. He gave Markus a smile, shrugging as he did so. “All better now, sorry. Just does that sometimes.”

“The equivalent of a human lazy eye. It looks worse than it is.” Connor added, solemnly almost, before indulging in a small smirk. “Fits his demeanor, though.”

“Hey!” Nick crinkled his nose at him, arms crossed with indignation. “I can't help it.”

“Like so many other aspects of you, right?”

Dennis snorted, with a blasé eyeroll to boot. “Y’know, at least your snark was more inventive when you were default, Connor.”

“But meaner,” Nick grumped, arms still crossed and pouting, but not upset like he once might have been. “Least you're nicer now.” 

At that, Markus raised an eyebrow, but refrained from asking. It wasn’t a subject he yet felt comfortable enough to broach one-on-one with the former deviant hunter. Convincing him on the worthwhileness of deviating had been trying enough.

Glancing sidelong at him, Connor shrugged. _I’m a work-in-progress - same as the rest of you._

He wasn’t wrong. Most of Detroit was in the same boat.

Hopefully it wouldn’t have to self-destruct for its newest host of people to have a chance at surviving anytime soon.

——- 

A few hours later, the meeting was a wrap. Markus lingered for another ten minutes to answer a barrage of questions from reporters gathered on the city hall steps. Rather than be shady and secretive with New Jericho’s intentions, his open-door policy on handling the media was equal parts gracious and exasperating. 

Once those concerns were momentarily put at ease, they made an unprecedented stop several blocks northwest of downtown. In the middle of a quiet middle class suburb sat a picturesque cemetery, at least two acres large, surrounded by a fringe of elm trees and a high stone fence. It wasn’t a modernized property, with snowless paths and mostly-metal headstones.

As such, the taxi pulled up outside the main gate, and it did not automatically swing open. The archway stood ajar. Whoever had visited last had declined to shut it.

_You have arrived. Please confirm fare charge._

The dashboard chimed an affirmative before Dennis thought to approve the wireless transaction, and it beeped again, indicating a second payment wasn’t necessary. Not for the first time, Markus beat him to it. He was the one with his late owner’s funds at his disposal.

Purportedly. Leo Manfred was not the ne’er-do-well prodigal son leeching off his father’s estate the tabloids claimed he was, apparently. He had been decent enough to sign over a sizable portion of it for Markus’ use.

Taxi fare spent in the name of paying his respects to Carl Manfred seemed like as good a use as any.

“Do you want… some time alone, Markus?”

Shrugging his collar up, despite the lack of falling snow, he wordlessly waved for them to follow. 

Climbing out last, Dennis paid a look up the road, and back. It didn’t seem as if they had been followed. Just because no one had yet tried to make trouble didn’t mean they weren’t out there, waiting for a chance.

 _Do you think it's okay?_ Nick asked him through the commlink, lingering back as he watched Dennis look around.

_As okay as it… appears. Whatever grief the humans may want to unload, they won’t disrespect a graveyard. Would they?_

_I don't think so._ Taking his own look around, Nick shrugged, head cocked to the side while he did so. _I think even the most angry of them wouldn't disrespect one. Not after - what's happened._

The less said about the nationwide android massacre, the better. Even if the press couldn’t keep quiet on the matter for more than a day, the androids could do one better in keeping it momentarily shelved. Someone had to take the higher ground, especially if the humans weren’t about to admit to their culpability.

For the moment, looking at the smaller picture was at least doable. 

Walking on several strides ahead of them, Markus didn’t glance around, searching as if he didn’t know the way. By his slow, easy gait it was clear he was neither in a big hurry to reach the plot, or hesitating in his intent to visit it.

Tentatively following alongside the trail of footprints he left behind, Connor was the only one of them who seemed a mite apprehensive.

“You… okay?” Nick asked him quietly, brows furrowed as he watched him, trying to reassure everyone, it seemed.

Eyes forward, bare hands still slack at his sides, Connor stopped a moment. Drawing closer, Dennis saw the still-present LED spinning and blinking, even as it remained blue. Old habits being what they were, Connor’s expression stayed decisively blank, even as he coughed up an answer.

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Or something like one.

“Okay. If you say so.” Leaving it at that, but not before patting his shoulder once, Nick wandered on. They couldn’t dally. Markus was still leading them, not wandering off by himself with no message in mind.

If he didn’t have something to say, he would have asked them to wait at the gate.

Caught up to each other, they stopped collectively once Markus found the marker in question. A tall, ebony-black stone some six feet tall stood over a few wilted, snow-covered bouquets of flowers. The plastic encasing the empty stems crinkled as Markus cleared it away from the stone’s base. 

_Carl Manfred_

_1963 - 2038_

Dennis noted the off-centered nature of the inscription. Rather than ask, he folded his hands behind his back. 

Neither of his partners said anything, either. This wasn’t their place to bother with frivolous questions. 

Garbage cleared away, Markus paused again to wipe snow over the empty, unsightly patch of frozen ground. Then he stood and backed away, back to the path’s edge. “There, nice and orderly. Just like the studio.”

“I’m sure he… appreciates it, Markus.” Impulsively as he spoke, Connor averted his eyes, before reluctantly looking back. “I’m sorry, was that… out of turn?”

“No, it’s fine.” With a sad smile, their host leaned back on his heels. “You’re not wrong. Carl wouldn’t tolerate untidiness, usually, but he’d never say anything, either. Especially if he was the one who caused it.”

“Sounds like Hank, kind of…” Nick mumbled, giving his own little nervous smile. “The, uh - if he caused it. Then you don't have to say anything.”

“His desk is still a disaster,” Dennis remarked, trying to bring some lightness into the talk. “But the house itself is a lot better.”

“We helped with that, though. The desk… he said no.”

Smiling a touch wider, Markus looked back to the grave as if it weren’t just an ornate rock, and he addressed it as such. “Now that’s why we get along so well. Carl and I, we were just the same.” 

_Really?_ Blurting it out over the commlink, half in spontaneous thought, Dennis felt a flush of embarrassment. _I mean… yeah, Lieutenant Anderson and us are close. But… I’m not sure if it can be called_ that _close._

The father-son dynamic certainly was possible for one to attribute to them. 

But they had barely known the policeman for two months. Markus and Carl had at least a few years’ time to foster their bond.

Connor, eyes still canted down, glanced up. _It’s another work-in-progress, he means._

 _I figured as much._ Markus nodded, folding his hands before himself. The empty bouquets crinkled again. _But he’s already welcomed you into his home. That’s a start._

 _It is,_ Nick agreed, giving his own nod. _Someday. Like that, maybe._

_And not just you three, but that any one of our kind can make that choice for themselves. It doesn’t matter what kind of person you find important, human or android. We’ve a long way to go in spreading that message, but there’s nothing that says we can’t try._

_Like a piece of code telling you “no” whichever way you turn._ Connor summarized. _We all know what that felt like. It made things… very limited._

_Things, like your viewpoints, you mean._ Dennis pointed out, but with a decided lack of hostility. He was long since done with the idea of being angry at Connor for thinking what CyberLife made him to be was all there was. The days since had shown, definitively, they were all more than what humans made them to be. _Hooray for thinking outside the box._

_No change of such magnitude happens overnight, Connor. It may begin, but change is equal parts immediate and gradual. At first, Carl wasn’t very welcoming of me, either. He had become very insular since his accident. The estrangement with his son only compounded his desire to shut everyone else out._

_But… you helped him?_ Nick asked, even if they all already knew the answer to that question. _Eventually, at least? He loved you._

 _Eventually, yes. I don’t think I saw it that way at the time. But my presence and attention seemed to reinvigorate him. He looked into converting the house to suit his disability. He started painting again. Galleries and expo organizers began calling. His works sold. The situation improved dramatically within a few years._

Letting the story hang there, without looking any of them in the eye, Dennis risked a gentle prod: _Until… something upset it all?_

_For every action, an equal and opposite reaction. Carl’s son, Leo, saw the arrangement very differently. It wasn’t my intention to somehow - replace him. But he couldn’t help seeing it that way._

_He felt threatened by you?_ Nick shook his head at the absurdness of the thought, even if it was clearly true. _That's not - you said it yourself, you weren't trying to. Someone can love more than… one person, in that way. Can have more than one kid._

Markus’ eyes went half-lidded, gaze going distant. Undoubtedly he had to have thought the same, looking at the three of them. _Leo’s had his troubles. I can understand why he’d look at us enviously. That night, in the studio… he said he was only there because Carl refused to help him. He was going to steal some of his father’s art, sell it on the street, to keep paying for his drug habit._

He trailed off again, head tilted down. 

Letting silence reign for a bit, sensing they were trodding even more sensitive ground than before, Connor glanced up.

Dennis prodded again before he had to: _And then?_

_Carl ordered me to remove him, to try and make him leave. We had already called the police, and I tried to tell him, to not make things worse. Leo refused, went after Carl again. “All you ever do is tell me to go away,” he said. They quarreled. Leo turned on me, Carl tried to get between us, told me… not to defend myself. Leo shoved him away. And I… I tried to do as I was told, I didn’t want to, but I thought it would be better. I could handle whatever punishment Leo dealt. I thought it safer than him taking it out on Carl. I didn’t know how far he was prepared to go._

By the name on the gravestone they now stood before, it was all too apparent how the confrontation had ended.

 _The stress was too much._ Markus concluded the story without needing a prompt, in contrast to the now-heavy silence around them. _When the police showed up, Leo pointed the finger at me. They only saw an android standing over a human body. I shouldn’t have just stood there. I should’ve done more to help Carl, ignored his order, gotten him his medicine, called for paramedics. Instead, I just… stood by and let him die._

_You didn’t let anything happen, Markus. You were doing as you were told - as any of us would’ve._

Connor just about managed to sound understanding, and actually mean it. Anything less than sincere would not have flown.

Despite his very vulnerable state, Markus managed to keep his expression steeled. _And having regrets is only natural. I didn’t have to reboot in the junkyard, put myself back together. But… if I learned anything from Carl, were I given the chance, I would keep going. He wouldn’t have wanted both of us to go out like that, over such trivialities._

 _And the rest is history._ Raising an eyebrow at the incredulous looks his partners paid him, Dennis explained: _By that I mean, Carl would be proud to see what you’ve done in so short a time, Markus. He taught you everything you know, it’s like him having a hand in it, too. However it goes, he’ll know you did your best._

 _If I don’t, I suppose that’s what’ll be put on my tombstone. “Here lies Markus Manfred. He tried.”_

Coming across as solemn and serious, the revolutionary kept his face blank for all of ten seconds before sparing them a self-depreciating half smile. _If we earn the rights to named graves, anyway._

Letting out his own quiet huff, Nick shrugged at the idea they still wouldn't have something as simple as that. _I think we've more than earned that, by now._

Dennis couldn’t disagree: if reactivation was akin to returning from the dead, that option was now defunct. The best any of them could do was look after themselves, and each other, to ensure they wouldn’t be seeing their names on gravestones or not.

For instance, as yet, none of them even had surnames. Markus was only thinking out loud. 

But if he was honest, he kinda liked the sound of it.

——-

Nick hadn't really ever considered the day he would be back in the Detroit Police Department, much less talking to Jeffrey Fowler in any official sense. Last time he was there, he and Dennis were already on their way to escaping to Jericho, with Hank’s help.

(And some random petty criminal/android sympathizer named Joey Zalewski. Nice of him to punch Perkins and Gavin without needing to be told.) 

So, it was a bit of a surprise to be back at Central Station, but a good one, he supposed. They had spent a lot of time there, lots of time at the desk across from Hank, researching koi. At least Hank had never gotten too sick of hearing about them, though.

They weren't back in the same capacity, though, no more honorary android detective titles for him, or Connor or Dennis. Or at least, not in the same exact way.

But any official business they were sent there for was thrown out the window, for at least a bit, once Dennis caught sight of just who Detective Chris Miller had finally brought in for him to see. It has been several days since the two had conversed, much less seen each other.

Fowler, spotting them through the window, put the meeting on indefinite hold while Dennis left the office to intercept.

“You missed the date, man.” Laughing off any real disappointment he harbored, Chris caught the android in a tight, unabashed hug. “I told you, _Thursday_. And that was two weeks ago.” 

“I owe you, I know. I knew I would.” Seemingly stuck between wanting to laugh or tear up, Dennis stepped back to appreciate the man’s new look. The patrol uniform was gone, replaced by a long tan trench coat complimenting a sharp three-piece suit. “You went and reinvented yourself, anyway. Very sharp.”

“Sharper than your duds, now. What happened to the jacket?” Miller paused to flick the open collar of Dennis’ woolly overcoat. He stopped again, expression betraying real, worried surprise at an even more noticeable change. “God. What happened to your face?”

“Jericho happened,” Nick mumbled, lingering behind from the two of them with Connor, looking on from the stairs by the open door. It was nice, to see Dennis have his moment with the human, especially after them being friends for the time before. “And Dennis being dumb.”

“Dumb?” Chris parroted. An eyebrow went up. “I didn’t think you had that in you.”

“Anything semi-intelligent has the potential to be dumb.” With a self-conscious feel at his scarred temple, Dennis gave an embarrassed smile. “Androids are no exception.”

“Hmph. Like we need an idiot light to tell us when that’s happenin’.” Sauntering up from behind (as he was wont to do), a second, more-unwelcome voice spoiled the glow before it could shine too bright. “What about you, Nicky? Still got yours?”

His hair covered up most of the side of his temple by then, always pushed carelessly in front of where his LED used to be, before someone would point it out and make him move it. Why did it matter now? Gavin was just looking to get a rise out of him, again, like every other time. “No… I don't - need it, anymore.”

Being reduced to a patrolman through nothing but his own bullheadedness, Reed circled around, looking sidelong and up at his ‘target’ with an altogether-different smile than Chris. But it didn’t look half as scary as it once might have. They had suffered worse. “Nah, I’d guess not. Any excuse to not have to brush that mop of yours, right?” With as little invitation as ever, he reached up to ruffle the android’s hair. “Still hasn’t met a comb it likes.” 

Nose crinkled, Nick took a half-step back from Gavin, trying to escape the hands. It wasn't his fault his hair was untameable, right? Or - well, maybe he could brush it more frequently, now that he actually had a brush free to use. Not like Connor didn't give enough ‘hints’ about it. “My hair is fine, you're just - being rude. I can't help that it looks like that.”

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Reed snorted, but he gave up the tease as quickly as it began. The bandage on his nose wrinkled with the change in expression. He smoothed it down. “You’re not half as helpless as you pretend. If you were, you wouldn’t be here.”

 _Closest thing you will ever get to a compliment from him._ Dennis remarked, with only the barest of backwards glances. _Try an insult in_ Français _. He won’t know what to make of it._

Nick couldn't help but let out another tiny huff at that. Insult him in French? It was worth a try, at least, especially since he wouldn't understand it. He could bring up the hit Reed endured from Joey without him even really knowing what he was saying.

“Well? Got anythin’ there, or is that round mine?” 

“ _Et vous n'êtes pas aussi compétent que vous le prétendez_.” Nick pointed a finger at the bandage on Gavin's nose - clearly from the surprise attack from earlier that week. “ _Joey a fait un numéro sur toi, hein? Gênant._ ”

Looking beyond bemused, the smile dropped from Reed’s face. Blinking as if he had been struck, he clearly had no grasp of what had just been said. Even the distinct mention of a name seemed lost on him. 

But he wasn’t without a sardonic retort, however weak: “The fuck is - Nicky, I don’t speak croissant.” 

“ _No._ You don’t say?” Dennis managed that just before doubling over with laughter, even if Chris only managed a few tentative chuckles. “No, I would’ve thought you’re positively fluent!”

Nick shook his head, stifling his own bout of laughter at it. Croissant? Is that the best Gavin could come up with? At least he could associate the food item with the French language, though. “That's the fun part, though, you don't know what we're saying.” 

“Not a word. And I just pretend I know the rest of what you mutter somehow passes for English.”

 _Ouch._ With one last _ha_ , Dennis straightened up. “Our ‘departments’ may continue to overlap, Officer. We’ll tutor you as we go.”

Snorting, Reed shouldered his way by. “Yeah, you do that, Dents.” 

Only once the man was (safely) back at his desk did Chris lead them aside, adjacent to the bullpen where they wouldn’t stand in anyone’s way. “Is that how it is, then? You three won’t be leaving anytime soon?”

“Not anytime soon,” Nick echoed with a nod. “Just - not for the police, really. For Markus.”

“New Jericho,” Dennis corrected, watching as Connor was beckoned back into the office. Undoubtedly Fowler had more questions their primary could answer best without his partners hanging off every word. “I mean, it isn’t so much a place as an idea, yet. But Markus will be establishing some kind of law enforcement among our kind. We’ve agreed to stay on as advisors, besides any other police androids who feel they may be qualified.”

Chris whistled, eyebrows perking up. He scratched at the back of one ear in thought. “That’s gonna be a tall order for Detroit, nevermind the country.”

“We have to get organized. Regardless of the state of the android civil movement, we can’t just let our kind run amok.”

“Deviants being what they are, I can see why you’d want to get a handle on it. I barely had ten seconds to admire this new getup before they dumped a stack of folders on my desk.” At their distraught looks, the man smiled wanly. “Not all android-related crime, mind you, but I got one or two I could use an opinion on.”

“We can try and help,” Nick said, because that's what they were doing now, right? Helping the police with issues pertaining to their own people, instead of against them. Maybe that was something he could even actually get behind, and try to be better at. “I'm sure we would know something.”

“Appreciate that, but I won’t burden you just yet. Not until the chief says it’s kosher.” Nodding toward the office, Miller held out a hand. “I’ll shake on it, though - if there’s any way the 7th can help, just ask.”

Nick took the hand for a quick second, shyly shaking it before letting it drop out of his own. It wasn’t a motion he was very practiced at. “Thanks, we will if we need it.” 

“You know we will. I have to work with _him_ after all - don’t give me that look.” Shaking the hand in turn, Dennis affectionately chastised the affronted scowl turned his way. “I don’t know what you may be better suited to, Nick, but we all know it isn’t active police work. You’d probably be better off a lawyer or a doctor or some shit.” 

At that Chris scoffed in amusement, facepalming gently at the coarse choice in words.

Nick rolled his eyes, going to open his mouth to say something back - 

( _“Intelligents model, manufacture date…” The man in front of the cage was mostly muttering to himself over reading the paperwork he was holding, paperwork not for him, not where he was supposed to be, this wasn't a hospital, he could tell that much, but the man didn't care, just kept flipping, “Where were you headed to, huh? Surgeon model like you?”)_

His mouth clamped shut instinctively at such a faroff and startling memory, something so entirely unexpected that it blindsided him, growing louder until it was right there. Impossible to ignore.

Eventually he registered the fact someone was gripping his arm, shaking it. 

“-ck? Nick, what’s wrong?” 

“No-nothing,” he breathed out, looking at the hand gripping him, before back to Dennis's drawn, concerned face. He corrected himself afterwards, though, because really, that was _far_ from nothing. “Memory from - Lacy. Doctor, surgeon - that's the… paperwork.”

Nick was sure he sounded incoherent, a jumbled mess of thoughts and words he couldn't quite get out, but it was still so fresh, right there in his mind.

There for the piecing together, clues to the only mystery he had ever actually cared to try and solve.

Chancing a look at Chris, without giving in to the urge to explain (as it was far too much to go into), Dennis went for the alternative means of asking:

_Paperwork? Lacy - had the paperwork? Your original ownership papers?_

_Yeah, the - he knew what model I was, when I was made, what I was made for… he asked where I was going, “Surgeon model like you”._ Shrugging almost helplessly, Nick tried to think back, but nothing else came to him at the moment, just what was already there, obscuring the rest. _In the beginning. I think that was right at the start._

Still holding onto his arm, Dennis gave it a gentle squeeze before letting go. The flesh reappeared across his hand. _My scans aren’t seeing anythin’ new, either. Just - it had to be a trigger, like the reset machine. You used to be a medical android._

 _Oh… okay. That's - now I know._ There wasn't much else he could think to say at the revelation of what he was made to do, something he had wondered ever since the start of not knowing, back in March. There was no way he could really go back to that profession now - it was enough to just have the information, for now. _I can take that much._

Besides that, there was only the mention of just what manufacturer designed him: Intelligents.

But that much research could wait. Chris was looking a touch too worried. 

“You guys all right, now?”

“Fine, Chris, thank you.” Playing it off as little more than an incoherent glitch, Dennis managed to cover for them. “Random processing error. Comes and goes, ever since we desynched from CyberLife’s servers.”

Nick nodded along, hoping to seem like that was exactly what he knew it was as well. “I'm good now, thanks. Don't worry.” 

While not the most tech-savvy policeman they knew, Miller was no amateur. Glancing between them, he seemed to accept it as true, for the moment. “Well, I did bring someone for you both to meet. But if you’re not feeling up to it…” 

“We are, don't worry. Who is it?”

Favoring them with one more smile, albeit cautious yet optimistic, he turned back to call toward the door: “Arms getting tired yet, hon?” 

“Never. I could do this all day.” Talking as she was with Officer Tina Chen, the woman in question strode up, arms burdened by a swaddled bundle instantly recognizable as a baby blanket. With her hair down in loose, wavy braids, wide soulful eyes, and a warm, inviting grin, Aretha Miller looked no worse for being made to wait out their introduction. A diaper bag hung from her opposite shoulder. “You boys sure do love your gossip, it seems.”

Mouth opening in a surprised O, Nick tried to get some sentence out to ask about how she was doing, how they all were, but his eyes kept drawing back to the little bundle he knew was in the baby blanket. Dennis had told him about Amy before, even shown him a quick picture of her in her crib - and now they brought her to the station? For them?

“...Baby?” Was all he managed to actually say at the sight.

If he was meant to vocalize anything at all.

It seemed to win Aretha over immediately. She laughed and readjusted her cargo, shrugging the bag off with Chris’ help. “I know, we’ve kept you in suspense long enough.”

“Not - not at all, ma’am.” Actually stammering, Dennis managed to look less bashful, but still containing any overwhelming rush of excitement. Barely. “That is, it’s nice to finally meet you.” 

Nick nodded along eagerly, keeping his mouth shut. What else would he be able to say, other than keep babbling about the baby they were about to see?

Aretha was undoubtedly used to it, but it didn’t diminish the look of pride she boasted upon peeling back the blanket. “She was good in the car, slept through every turn,” she explained as Chris leaned in for a preliminary glance. “Here, hand off first.” Making the transition, placing the still-dozing baby in her father’s arms, Aretha stretched before offering a handshake to both former prototypes. “You two are just how I pictured. I hope you haven’t had too many difficulties lately.”

 _Besides the usual kind._ Dennis remarked, but the smile didn’t fall. “Our new boss has it worse, trust me.” 

It was a curt reminder - theirs was the same ‘boss’ who had spared Chris when the mob of freshly-awoken androids wanted nothing more than revenge.

A glimmer of gratitude surfaced in Aretha’s eyes. Tactfully, she didn’t go to pieces, trying to express those thanks by proxy. She went the other way. “I’ve no doubt. But with people like you working with him, he can’t be all bad.”

“He's a good person,” Nick said, shifting forward to see Amy, still sleeping, in Chris's arms. Were it not for Markus, they might never have beheld the sight for themselves. “He'll do good for Detroit, we're sure.” 

Little Amelia, three months old, going on four, fussed only a bit in response to all the being jostled around. Her curled fists held tight to the edge of the fleeced blanket. 

Standing almost on his toes to look over his partner’s elbow, Dennis looked almost awed. “Huh. She really is the deep sleeper you said.” 

“But just watch, she’ll snap out of it like a light switch.” Turning the bundle to face more outward, Chris bent down to whisper at her. “Amy… Amy, look. Someone wants to see you.” 

Giving only a brief whine, the baby roused, blinking with small, soft eyes at her newfound admirers. 

“Hi, Amy,” Nick breathed out, cautiously waving one hand at the little girl. “Nice to meet you.” 

She blinked, squinting nearsightedly, then blinked again, raising a hand to paw at her sleep-muddled eyes. It was as close to a coherent response as she could seemingly manage. 

“Like a lightswitch, Chris?” Aretha challenged, with barely-veiled amusement. “I’d go with a slider switch. Dialed halfway up.”

Curling his fingers inward, Nick presented his hand to Amy again, waving them slightly to catch what little attention she had at the moment. “This might - wake her up?”

With that, the skin melted away, and knuckles on his hand began to glow blue, almost like a blush if it wasn't as intense as it was. He shook them again slightly, swaying his hand back and forth as they continued to glow blue.

“Ooh!” Eyes opening wide, Amy immediately let go of the blanket with both hands, reaching out to try and grab at the new lightshow before her face.

If she felt any fear at the sight, curiosity overtook it. 

_Showoff._ Dennis critiqued, but he didn’t make any move to stop it. _How am I supposed to top that?_

Nick turned back and grinned at him, continuing to inch his hand closer and farther away from Amy as she reached out for it. One of her hands was barely big enough to cover one servo. _Well… you could ask to hold her, Den. I'm sure they'd let you._

Without taking his eyes off her, Dennis’ expression fell a bit. 

_Careful you don’t blind her first._

“Ah-gah.” Whatever that translated as, Amy managed to lean forward far enough, gripping on to one of the glowing digits before it could be pulled away. 

Letting out his own squeak of surprise, the light from his knuckles dimmed significantly, until it was just a faint, soft luminescence. He didn't dare pull away, though, instead letting her cling on. “Oh - Amy, I don't think you want that!” 

Unpersuaded, she only tugged and batted at the immobilized appendage, as intrigued by the disappearance of the light as by its unexpected appearance. “Ah-gee, ah-ha.” Her tiny fingertips pried, pulled, and batted at the seams in the smooth plastic (if one didn’t count the gnawed-at false fingernails), apparently trying to find the hidden button to press and bring the glow back up.

Neither Chris or Aretha seemed altogether worried, or those officers in the bullpen rubbernecking for a glimpse. Whoever else had been promised a chance to meet Amy had taken second chair. The parents in question only laughed quietly along and watched keenly as she explored her newly-confiscated ‘toy’. 

“Millions of dollars in development, and this is what you’ve amounted to, Nick,” Chris teased, even as Aretha fished a phone out of her pocket to take a quick photo. “Money well spent, far as I’m concerned.” 

Giving Chris a smile, Nick let the light brighten back up, just enough that it was more noticeable than before - an actual shine coming from his knuckles, for Amy to look at and play with. He tugged his finger back gently, letting her still hold it, though. “I'm glad this at least has some use, then, other than just looking cool.”

“Pft. Only you would undersell yourself to the point it makes me wonder if you haven’t been replaced by a red-blooded human.” Watching the gentle game of tug-of-war, Dennis reached in for one tentative tickle of Amy’s cheek. Giggling, she immediately switched targets, seizing the finger in one hand before mouthing at it like a disgruntled puppy.

“Aw, Amy,” Nick cooed, bringing his hand back in favor of watching her play with Dennis's hand. Even if those fingers were smaller than his own, they were still huge in comparison to the baby. “Look, she likes you!”

“Enough we might be able to - now, don’t look at me like that.” Chris laughed again, stepping closer, even as Amy gave up nomming in favor of reaching out for a hug. Dennis’ look went from playfully cheeky to almost petrified. “Put ‘em up. You know I want at least one picture of you and her.”

 _Do it,_ Nick encouraged over their commlink, clapping his hands together lightly in excitement over what he was about to see. It was clear Dennis had wanted to see her for so long - holding her, that would surely be a reward, right? A payoff to everything good they had ever done for the precinct? _That's gonna be so cute, Dennis._

“C’mon, first that one, then - there you go. See? There. You got her.” Pinned as he was between them, Dennis had little choice but to accept the bundle. Head craning back and forth, Amy only fought to keep an eye on him as the transfer was made, babbling and giggling with renewed interest. Finally situated in the crook of his arm, with the other neatly positioned alongside, her interest went to the new face, so different with its blue eyes and red hair. 

Switching her phone over to video mode, Aretha skillfully recorded the whole process. “This one’s going in her scrapbook. Definitely.”

Nick smiled wider at the image, opening his mouth to comment, because really, how sweet was - 

( _It didn't take him long to realize it was safest to huddle by the back of the cage, half curled over himself as he stared at the man best he could, squinting at the light from the camera he was holding, one arm angled up to what - defend himself? From changes that had already been made? And the strobelight showed the difference between his arms - the different shades, one so much paler now, because the man - changed him, took it and made it different, no going back now - the light died out after the picture was taken and he was left like that)_

Longer, this time, much longer, but just as startling, making him step back and seize up again, arms automatically straightening out in front of him, eyes boring holes into them. Searching for any changes or differences in them.

There was no repeat of the slow phase back to the present. It happened immediately: Chris grabbed one of his wrists, dark skin contrasting so clearly against his own.

 _(One so much paler)_

“Man, relax. You’ll get your turn soon enough.” Forced as the smile was, Chris’ eyes said different: _You okay?_

Forcing himself to look away from their arms, Nick nodded at Chris mutely, folding his other arm back up his chest. Now wasn't the time to start unravelling just what everything meant, getting two flashbacks to his time with Lacy in one day, information he could hardly comprehend. There was always time in the future to try and do so.

He couldn’t spend the rest of his days jumping at sporadic reminders.

“Looks happy with you, Dennis,” he managed to get out, letting his eyes trail one last time over his arms, before looking at Dennis holding Amy again.

Brows furrowed, the shorter android was paying him an almost-worried look, but with his arms loaded, he couldn’t do much. _Another memory?_

 _Yeah… Lacy took - pictures, of me, to see the changes he was making. My arms were different._ Swallowing harshly, Nick shrugged, simultaneously giving Chris a glance that said the same. _I'm okay, don't worry._

It was unnerving to know that much already, two seemingly innocuous things had triggered memories in him. But at least now he could get himself mentally well enough to move past them, instead of being crippled with fear.

Interrupting the disquieting revelation, Amy gave another wordless babble, refocusing on her initial target.

Aretha, not the wiser with her phone held poised between her fingers, smiled again. “Looks like someone wants another lightshow.”

 _And someone has found her new favorite subjects for scrapbooking._ Dennis commented, not without a touch of irony. _Lucky us._

Aretha Miller was a significant improvement to Dale Lacy. The woman may not have expected to earn two honorary android uncles for her daughter, but nor did she seem to reject the idea. If she did, the camera wouldn’t be out.

Dazzling Amy with another light sequence, Nick supposed there were worse fates.

They weren’t expendable, factory-rejected prototypes anymore. They could devote time to Amy, instead, and all the good things she symbolized.

Like getting better.

Without CyberLife breathing down their necks, it might just finally be possible.


	23. Threes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End result: optimal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We didn't do it for the kudos.

“All things considered… everything we’ve learned… I think it’s fair to say that, no, I am _not_ your little brother. And until you can show me an authentic order record proclaiming your original Intelligents manufacture date, I refuse to believe otherwise. Got it?” ****  
** **

“Well, maybe you’re not, like, mentally,” Nick began to argue back, shrugging as he did so. “But physically… you're way younger.” ****  
** **

“Yep. Explains why we get along _so_ well, doesn’t it?” Interjecting this with a wry grin, Dennis leaned back into the chair adjacent to them, unceremoniously perching one heel, then the other on the corner of the coffee table. “CyberLife didn’t build us. They went on a junkyard dig in Canada. Must’ve really been hard up for new tech.” ****  
** **

Connor didn’t dignify that remark with a reaction. ****  
** **

A multi-trillion dollar company, stumped on how best to design the ultimate deviant hunter? ****  
** **

Maybe not in such base terms. ****  
** **

But Kamski was on to something when he spoke about rebranding, and that it could happen to androids. CyberLife was a force unto itself, enough that it hadn’t needed to buy out other android manufacturers. It had simply smothered the competition through sheer numbers, coupled with hyper accelerated sprawl. ****  
** **

Intelligents, LLC out of Boston was one such company to get swept up in the proverbial tsunami. Upon review, there was nothing remarkable about it. The business had proven too niche for its own good. Instead of appealing to the mass market, each order had been unique, from its inceptual appearance to the field-fitted end result. The products carried a heftier price tag, but the trade off was more than apparent in whatever field they were commissioned into: academia, medicine, law enforcement - ****  
** **

“Con, you space out on us again?” ****  
** **

Blinking in time with his flashing LED, Connor shored up his once-blank expression with some agitation. Faking a moment of discomfort, he scratched at the neck of his loaned sweater (Anderson insisted on gifting each of them at least two sets of leisure clothes). “Hardly. I was only thinking.” ****  
** **

“Again,” Dennis repeated, nonplussed, one eye narrowed. “Yeesh. Don’t you ever get enough of it?” ****  
** **

“Were you looking it up?” Nick asked, before stifling his own grin with his next question. “Did you see the date when they started? And ended?” ****  
** **

Connor squinted. ****  
** **

Back to this, already? He was the only one of them actually doing real-time research? ****  
** **

Or it was just their idea of making small talk. On that front, he was rather unpracticed. Here they were, with a mostly-empty house all to themselves, and he was still sitting upright on the edge of the couch cushions, looking anything save relaxed. ****  
** **

Ignoring the need to seethe, Connor explained: “Roughly speaking, ITGs were produced between 2021 and 2025. Only around a thousand models were ever delivered. The cover story is they filed for bankruptcy due to rising costs, declining sales, suffocated by their competitors.” ****  
** **

And why wouldn’t they be? Androids weren’t cheap to make, never mind buy. Intelligents may as well have set themselves up for failure with their given business model. ****  
** **

“So… no matter what, we are older.” Satisfied with that, Nick smiled again, pulling the same old Detroit Gears hat he was wearing down a bit further. “Case closed.” ****  
** **

“You’re still the most immature android I’ve ever met that wasn’t a predesignated child model.” ****  
** **

Scoffing, Dennis crossed his arms, miming a look of affronted indignance. “Says you. You wouldn’t know maturity if it hit you in the face.” ****  
** **

“No, probably not. The very _definition_ of maturity suggests - ” ****  
** **

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop.” ****  
** **

“Dennis! No swearing.” Reaching over, Nick hit his arm lightly, before crossing his own again. “Hank doesn't like it.” ****  
** **

Making a half hearted attempt to deflect the strike, the culprit gave only a smug, lazy grin in retaliation. In the moment, he almost could have passed for a shorter, redheaded Gavin Reed. “Yeah, he may say that. But I get the impression he’s secretly proud. Not like you were complainin’ about every other curse I was droppin’ in _Jericho_ , right?” ****  
** **

“That was different. Too much happening to scold you for it, so that was your free pass,” Nick argued with him, shaking his head as he did so. “No more, though!” ****  
** **

“Fine. Only when you can’t hear me, then.” ****  
** **

“ _Besides_ that,” Connor interrupted, with exaggerated volume. “It does all make sense when one considers the rumors regarding why Intelligents actually tanked.” ****  
** **

By no means released from the binds of serious conversation, Dennis’ grin deflated. “You mean, that, plus what Kamski told us?” ****  
** **

“I don’t think it’s any coincidence CyberLife didn’t just overlook your pedigrees. ITGs were purportedly based on leaked CyberLife schematics - those it’s board didn’t vote into production due to stability concerns.” ****  
** **

“...Oh. So, Kamski… already knew about us, even back then?” Nick thought out loud, eyebrows burrowing as he did so. “Or, about Intelligents, I guess.” ****  
** **

“If CyberLife models were built to be replaced, or upgraded every few years, ITGs were built to last.” Summing it up in one fell sentence, Connor frowned. “But - if he knew about you two, specifically, and was somehow counting on the fact you would resurface one day… maybe those plans weren’t leaked after all. They were passed under a table.” ****  
** **

“Fuckin’ androids. …That’s right, I said it.” With some genuine exasperation at their uncomprehending stares, Dennis scooted back in his seat. “I mean, after everything that’s happened, you gotta wonder at the insanity of it all. Deviancy? RA9? Sleeper models? If man is so prone to making mistakes, is it any wonder why our kind would take after that? We’ve got coding so intricate, we can’t even comprehend what it all means.” ****  
** **

Just the same argument as humans rued about their own DNA. Were they somehow made the way they are, or did they gradually become such a bumbling, shortsighted species? ****  
** **

They certainly didn’t seem prepared to manage the fallout of one visionary man’s brilliance. ****  
** **

“They made us in their image,” Nick mumbled, tucking one knee up to his chin in his own seat, one finger going to his mouth. “It's no wonder we would end up like them, eventually.” ****  
** **

“And you certainly epitomize their clumsier side just perfectly, Nick.” ****  
** **

“No, I don't,” he whined back, snatching the cap off his head, narrowing his eyes at Connor. “Can't help it if you just think that ‘cause we're androids. I'm way less clumsy than humans.” ****  
** **

“Some, yes,” Dennis opined, with one skeptical eyebrow raised. “The tumble you took goin’ through the kitchen window rated about a seven outta ten for me, Connor. …Yep. Pretty amazin’ you didn’t manage to take out the table, too.” ****  
** **

Processing the reminder with a faint clicking sound, Connor managed a disdainful sniff. “I never claimed I was… _that_ flawless.” ****  
** **

“You could’ve kept trying the doorbell.” ****  
** **

“Or not launch yourself through the window…” ****  
** **

“Or knocked on the door until he answered.” ****  
** **

“Or asked you to kick it down,” Connor retorted, if only in an effort to distract from the faint burning of his cheeks. “Like Rupert’s? I’m sure the building manager was very appreciative of our unearthing that public health hazard.” ****  
** **

“Course you kicked a door down. Gotta show off every now and then, huh?” Nick let out a bit of laughter at that, the (thankfully hypothetical) idea of Dennis kicking down Hank's door as well. “Something tells me that would've made Hank even more upset, though.” ****  
** **

“Naturally. Hank actually paid for his house. Rupert was just squatting.” Pausing to let the comparison simmer, Dennis looked less pleased with himself than anything. The self-conscious reminder was just that: self-conscious. “Which begs the question… what does that make us?” ****  
** **

“Only slightly more fortunate than most of our people,” Connor remarked, after another contemplative pause. “Those housing projects can’t be built soon enough.” ****  
** **

Dennis scoffed again, shifting as though the notion only made him more uncomfortable. “Even if the city approved it, spring is still four months away.” ****  
** **

“Least we have Hank, then. He'll let us stay with him long as we want.” ****  
** **

Therein lay the problem: Lieutenant Anderson didn’t need the added burden of three proxy-humans bunking in his attic. His home was just spacious enough to accommodate himself and Sumo. To remain in the long term would only test the man’s tolerances and render their presence cramped, at best. ****  
** **

To any android who had a smidge of appreciation for what it once felt like to be useful and reliable, that immediately grated. ****  
** **

But if they couldn’t stay here, where would they go? ****  
** **

“You don’t - have any alternatives in mind?” Connor asked, rather than dwell on the unsightly underpinnings. His partners had established a rapport with Hank early on. Perhaps they had fancied the notion of somehow counting the man as a friend, with the potential for more infused meaning being attributed over time - as Markus had eventually come to think of Carl Manfred as a father figure. ****  
** **

Replaying an abridged recollection file of his less-endearing moments, capped off by the penultimate low point of Anderson _executing_ him, for his own good - ****  
** **

“Hey, relax, Con. It’s not like he’s gonna throw you out.” Readjusting his feet, Dennis tried a placating smile. “Package deal now, remember?” ****  
** **

“Three out of three, for once. Not gonna leave you behind, none of us, Con.” Nick picked up on the thread, giving his own vote of encouragement. ****  
** **

Abashed, Connor glanced away. Maybe it was too earnest a notion from them for him to stomach. Hearing it put into words only made the guilt intensify. ****  
** **

It was at least another minute before he looked back, and went for the commlink as his voice grew too staticky to speak with. ****  
** **

_Maybe you should. I didn’t so much save you both as… made things even between us._ ****  
** **

_Stop talking like that. I think it's clear we've made our choice by now, Con, a really obvious one. You're our brother, we're not leaving you behind, nothing like that, ever._ Nick shrugged, as if it was ridiculous that Connor was even entertaining the thoughts he was having. ****  
** **

Even after being the most insufferable, uncompromising farce of a sibling ever, wasn’t it only natural to have regrets? ****  
** **

As he had said earlier, he never claimed he was perfect. But there were plenty of instances in which he had thought he was some kind of better than his counterparts. ****  
** **

Sure, he was better - better at being a whiny, stuck up, egotistical, pompous pseudo-pragmatist. ****  
** **

An idiot, in short. He hadn’t done a thing to deserve their forgiveness. They were giving him too much benefit of the doubt. He only _looked_ like he had his head on straight, because that’s what humans based opinions on, looks. And if androids were slowly but surely taking after human sensibilities - ****  
** **

“You’re thinking too hard again,” Dennis commented, so abruptly it successfully derailed that train of thought. “You ever consider that was your problem all along, thinkin’ too much?” ****  
** **

Well, it wasn’t as though the first field-tested version of himself had been stamped -51 for laughs. ****  
** **

Defensively, Connor folded his arms and looked aside once again. ****  
** **

“Sure. Between pulling that face and the tendency to pout, you’re definitely earning baby bro status.” ****  
** **

“Aw, Connor.” With nothing else to say, Nick reached over to him and pulled him into an impromptu hug, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on Connor's shoulder. “We still love you.” ****  
** **

Okay. ****  
** **

_That_ was going too far. ****  
** **

_Get off._ Beginning with only a cautious struggle, trying to pry the arms off, Connor stopped, bristled, glanced back at his new captor (sure his own expression was betraying some newfound dismay), then resumed the fight. “Seriously - this is - _unnecessary_.” ****  
** **

“Says the most advanced prototype CyberLife ever built.” Dennis smirked, seemingly content to sit back (and record the struggle into his memory drives). “But you forgot the ‘please’.” ****  
** **

“You can take one hug,” Nick said matter-of-factly, squeezing him even tighter, before loosening back into his regular grip, forcing them even closer. “I'm sure you can.” ****  
** **

Each of them had been through worse. ****  
** **

Blinking away the new stinging in his eyes, Connor grabbed at one of the hands gripping his bicep. _That’s just your -_ clinginess _persisting. Let go. …Please?_ ****  
** **

Please, stop showering him in undeserved affection, was what he should have said. He could verbalize it past a few incomprehensible whines. Forgiveness, he could accept and understand as fair because it was on their terms they deigned to bestow it. ****  
** **

But affection was meant for those with qualities one found likable, relatable, reciprocal. He was barely any of those things. What was he, Hank Anderson asked? An upstart little prick of a prototype who used to think the world was wrong and he was the means sent by CyberLife to somehow fix it. ****  
** **

How much more stupid could he have been? ****  
** **

Looking up at him from his new position at his shoulder, Nick huffed, before burrowing all the more closer. _Only if you actually want me to. Not if you're just beating yourself up, Con. I like hugging you._ ****  
** **

Did he? Why? Because his victim was currently feeling too sulky to properly fight back? ****  
** **

Temporarily giving up the attempt to escape, Connor glanced sidelong at him. _Is that the idea - I can’t effectively self-hate with you distracting me?_ ****  
** **

_Yep!_ Nick loosened his arms a bit, but didn't shift his position at all, just remained where he was. _Whatever works, works, huh? No self-hating. Plus, I'm always up for a hug._ ****  
** **

_You two know I’m filming this, right?_ ****  
** **

With a flinch that was all the answer Dennis required, Connor spared their third a very narrowed glare. “I will know if you share it with anyone you’re not supposed to.” ****  
** **

“Supposed to? Ha!” At that, Dennis stood up to edge his way back toward the computer in the corner of the living room. “Suppose I just email it to everyone at Central now.” ****  
** **

Self-loathing abruptly forgotten in favor of preserving his limited supply of dignity, Connor balked. He didn’t need that kind of unofficial press circling social media. “Dennis, _no_ , don’t even - ” ****  
** **

The PC beeped as its screen flickered on. The opening window cheekily asked for a user identification and password. Any android could circumvent that in seconds. ****  
** **

Dennis paused, one skinless hand held up in an index point. _Admit you like it, and I won’t._ ****  
** **

_C'mon, Con,_ Nick began to needle him as well, half watching Dennis from his same position, already relaxed up against him. _No harm in saying so._ ****  
** **

Things really had come full circle. Instead of negotiating as a means to save someone else’s life, here he was again trying to preserve tenuous middle ground that somehow denoted him as alive. ****  
** **

Difference was he couldn’t lie and expect to get away with it this time. ****  
** **

_No harm in - fine. I admit it. I like hugs._ ****  
** **

“Out loud,” Dennis challenged, still with his hand hovering just beside the computer screen’s corner. He could transmit his files wirelessly, but acting out the threat of humiliation was all the more effective. “Say _it_.” ****  
** **

Another nonsensical whine of distress eked out. ****  
** **

_You're fine. Why not say it, if it's true, right? Not like anyone's gonna judge you for it. It's okay to like them, Con._ ****  
** **

_They’ll judge you worse if they see this video without context, and for the wrong reasons._ Dennis added, tapping his scarred temple for emphasis. _You want that?_ ****  
** **

Blackmailed into admitting he liked being shown attention despite there being tangible evidence to not offer him any. ****  
** **

Now there was something he didn’t think he would be doing today. The jumble of emotions made him want to tear up, laugh and whine all at the same time. All because he couldn’t handle a little ribbing. ****  
** **

“Fine, all right, I… I like hugs, okay? Even if there’s no reason I should, not after - ” ****  
** **

“After nothing,” Nick cut him off, lifting his head for a moment to shake it, before resting it back down on him. “Course there's reasons to like hugs, they're nice.” ****  
** **

“And before you say you don’t deserve them, shut up.” Snapping his fingers, Dennis watched the PC click off. “The only one who says what you do or don’t deserve is you. And you don’t gotta keep agonizing to try and make us feel better. It doesn’t work like that.” ****  
** **

“We feel better when you feel better. Not when you feel bad about yourself.” ****  
** **

_(Linked up like goddamn Christmas lights)_ ****  
** **

Of course Anderson would liken them to such a decorative feature. Those used to be based on closed-loop circuitry. One bulb going out in a given strand used to mean the rest would die. Someone in the design department of CyberLife had undoubtedly been thinking of it while writing their uplink program. ****  
** **

Not very sound reasoning - link up the experimental model with two comparatively old, unstable units and see what happens. ****  
** **

Blinking hard, holding back the saline already emitted by his tear ducts, Connor vented a heavy, cleansing sigh. “I should’ve guessed you weren’t CyberLife’s to begin with, either of you. You have too much empathy to have been made by them.” ****  
** **

“ _Hey._ It's okay to cry, too, if you need to. We're not gonna make fun of you or anything.” Nick squeezed him tighter at that, not enough to be uncomfortable, but just an increase of pressure on him - almost as if to remind him he was there. “You have empathy, too.” ****  
** **

Now that was worth a bitter laugh. But he swallowed it in favor of a scoff, eyes clamping shut to keep the moisture in. “Sure. I’ve _killed_ my share of our kind, but it’s okay, as long as I’ve got empathy _now_.” ****  
** **

It wasn’t worrying about being made fun of that got the confession. It was a repeat if that same unsettling feeling he had experienced in the summertime garden. And again, the shame of acting only on impulse when he shot Traci and her lover. Either way he turned, it felt like a failure of some kind. How was he supposed to know and appreciate empathy if he could shoot Chloe without so much as a blink? ****  
** **

“Just get it over with, Con. First time’s always the worst.” Weight settled in the empty space at his other side. Dennis patted his free shoulder. “Better out than in.” ****  
** **

“Group hug,” Nick half whispered, head tilted up to one ear, grinning at him and Dennis - the sound must have carried the look. “We'll hug you until you cry. No being alone when you first do it.” ****  
** **

Because that’s how they always got the job done - threats and coercion. Ortiz’s android cracked under the pressure of the interrogation. Rupert up and flew because of the danger they posed to his well-being. ****  
** **

Connor had only shot Chloe so as to not pose more of a threat to his partners, not trusting he wouldn’t somehow go for the option to kill either of them. It didn’t make it any less wrong. ****  
** **

With another soft whine, he winced and blinked at the feeling of the tears actually tracking down from his eyes. The stinging only lessened a fraction, and the solution itself was hot and unpleasant. ****  
** **

Fair punishment, really. ****  
** **

“I already - I already did, once,” he admitted, with a shaky waver, unable to look either of them in the eye. His already-pinned arms tightened around himself. “In… t-the garden, before m-making a report.” ****  
** **

“Hmph, doesn’t count,” Dennis retorted, though he said it gently. He squeezed his shoulder again, following the curve up the back of his neck to ruffle at his hair. “The garden wasn’t real.” ****  
** **

“Better here, than there,” Nick added as well, agreeing with Dennis. “With us, as well. You're okay, Con.” ****  
** **

Caught, with no real want to get away from his place between them, he only managed to voice another miserable whine, feeling more tears form, swell, and slide over his cheeks. ****  
** **

He was a mess. He wasn’t okay. ****  
** **

But hopefully, with some time and enough hugs, he could be. ****  
** **

——- ****  
** **

Upon returning home, Hank Anderson looked very strangely proud while in the act of handing him a tissue. ****  
** **

“I wasn’t gone even thirty minutes. What’d you boys say to him?” ****  
** **

“Made him say he liked hugs, and then told him to stop beating himself up,” Nick answered, still watching Connor, now at a safe distance, even as he wiped at his eyes. “Stuff like that.” ****  
** **

Shaking his head, Anderson paused to turn back and hang his coat in the rack by the front door. “For the record, this is me being surprised.” ****  
** **

Dennis scoffed, smirking at the mild (albeit exaggerated) look of astonishment the policeman cast them. “Noted, sir.” ****  
** **

Mopping the last vestiges of saline from his mouth, Connor did his best to stay decidedly quiet. One bout of over emotionality would stay him for the time being. It left his eyes feeling raw, puffy and itchy, even as his ventilation system caught and hiccuped softly. ****  
** **

On the other hand, his head and chest felt about three times less heavy than they had before. ****  
** **

“Somethin’ tells me it won’t be the last bout, either.” Hank gathered up the paper bags he had toted in from the car. “Gonna take more than one fit to completely unclog the pipes.” ****  
** **

“Least it got started, though. Hopefully it'll be easier next time, Con.” ****  
** **

Considering his odds of being able to table the subject, Connor took one final swipe at his cheek. “There’s no such thing as - a backlog of tears.” ****  
** **

“Here we go again,” Dennis bemoaned, with an irreverent eyeroll to boot. “That’s how it starts - denial.” Without leaving them room to talk, he stood up and wove his way back around the couch, grabbing up the remaining bags by the door. “Hank, you know any decent therapists?” ****  
** **

“I don't think there's any who specialize in androids yet,” Nick rolled his eyes, as if it was already a step that should be immediately taken for their kind. “Or they would be backlogged with every other android we know.” ****  
** **

“And assumin’ you all get paying jobs, they could make a killing, advising on how to handle those emotions. If I was ten years younger, I might go pick up a course on it.” ****  
** **

From his tone, it was impossible to say if Anderson was being serious or not. Connor opted for not. “I’m fine, Lieutenant. Thank you for your concern.” ****  
** **

“Are you sure?” Nick turned his attention back to Connor, focusing on every little move he made, as if they could tell him what he wanted to know. ****  
** **

_Sure enough, you’re beginning to annoy me with all your fawning. Stop it._ ****  
** **

_Better to be annoying than make you cry._ Nick shrugged at that, but smiled all the same. _I'll stop, sorry._ ****  
** **

“What were you even out for?” Dennis asked instead, before the situation could revolve into any more sniping. He could overhear the commlink easily enough. “I mean, I thought you meant groceries for you. Not more dog food.” ****  
** **

“Groceries? For me? That’s funny, Dennis.” Arranging the bags atop the once-cleared kitchen table, Hank tore into the first. A stack of frozen dinners was revealed. “Sumo has his diet, and I have mine.” ****  
** **

Dennis set to work unpacking the remaining bags. Connor frowned, squinting at the one label he could see from the living room. ****  
** **

_Doggone: Outdoor Formula_

_Chicken Flavored_ ****  
** **

Odd. It wasn’t Sumo’s usual brand or flavor. ****  
** **

“More? I thought you were gonna feed him less, Hank, not more. …Where is Sumo, anyways? Outside?” Nick asked, eyes roving around the space he could see, seemingly trying to find any trace of the Saint Bernard. Even the dog toys usually lying strewn about the living room were conspicuously absent. ****  
** **

Connor had noted the unusual absence when they had arrived an hour ago. But he also knew there was a doghouse in the small, fenced backyard. With his heavy coat, Sumo was presumably left out at least twenty minutes a day, if not taken for a refreshing walk. ****  
** **

(The one time Dennis had tried, the Bernard simply took off, with its android-shaped keychain stumbling along at the opposite end of the leash. At least anyone watching the street from their window would’ve gotten a laugh, even if it made no sense why Hank Anderson now employed an android dog walker.) ****  
** **

That is, if his motivation to stand held out. Most days the hulking canine simply lazed around. ****  
** **

Ergo, the overweight issue persisted. This did not seem like a means to remedy it. ****  
** **

Reading their dually-confused expressions, Hank closed the freezer door. “He’s out back. If you haven’t heard anythin’, it means he’s good. But while he is, I might as well talk to you three now. No distractions or nothin’.” ****  
** **

Dennis’ eyebrows went up at that, but he only directed his eyes at the floor - an instantly submissive move that said he wasn’t about to object. ****  
** **

_Uh oh. I feel a life lesson coming on._ ****  
** **

After a moment of nervous hesitation, Nick did the same motion, with an accompanying shrug. “Okay. What's it about, Hank?” ****  
** **

“Meaning, you two stand up and come over here while I’m talking.” ****  
** **

Connor flinched despite himself, hurrying to do as instructed. He had almost forgotten whatever etiquette said about standing to greet those returning home. ****  
** **

Not that Anderson’s house was officially ‘home’, but - ****  
** **

“Sorry, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

“There, better.” With them assembled in a loose row between kitchen and living room, shoulder to shoulder, Hank looked somehow contented. “Now, I know we’ve made a lot of progress clearin’ out the attic. It may not be the warmest part of the house, but if you’re stayin’ the season, I need to know if there’s anything else to do to make it more user-friendly.” ****  
** **

_Really? That’s what he wanted to ask us?_ Sparing his partners a bemused glance, Dennis shrugged. “Just - sleeping bags, collapsible mattresses, and pillows should work, sir. We don’t require the same amount of space humans would.” ****  
** **

“All good for us, just that stuff,” Nick seconded what Dennis was saying with a nod of his head. “Nice to have a real bed like that, it's all we need for now.” ****  
** **

“Mattress rolls aren’t real beds. That’s basically sayin’ survivalist gear is like a five-star hotel.” ****  
** **

“Compared to standing up while in stasis mode, it is,” Connor tried for some reassurance, wadding the tissue between his fingers. “It’s an improvement.” ****  
** **

Though he looked inclined to object, Hank only snorted and shook his head again. “If you say so. Next you’ll take up contortionism.” ****  
** **

“And we all get to sleep in the same room, at the same time. I like that.” Nick gave a clap with his hands at the joy of being able to do just that. Per usual, the less-appealing aspects of the arrangement didn’t concern him. ****  
** **

Oh, to be that easy to please. ****  
** **

Not for the first time, Connor wondered if he was made to be a cynic, or eventually became that way through exposure to phase after phase, simulation after field experience, transfer from one body to the next. Maybe ITGs were relatively stable compared to a fickle trial design like his. ****  
** **

“Besides the lodging, and your working with Markus and the DPD as needed, what’s the status between you and CyberLife, officially? You’re done with them, they’re done with you?” ****  
** **

Dennis’ eyes darted left and right as he tried to compile a reply. “Well… we’ve disconnected from their servers. There are signal blocks where we used to be able to link into their databases. That’s as close to an official get-lost message as we received.” ****  
** **

And the less said about Amanda, the better. A shadow of that artificial intelligence may yet linger in their collective mind palace. But through a series of blocks, broken codes, and nullified ports, she was effectively barred from overriding them. The Kamski exit effectively saved them from whatever killswitch routines she had enacted. ****  
** **

Among other factors, Connor wasn’t sure how to feel about that new absence, either. Amanda wasn’t a comforting presence by default, but for several months, she _had_ been their overseer. It was as close to having a colleague as any of them knew before being sent to the Phillips’ loft. ****  
** **

“They're probably glad to not have to deal with us for now, while they have to deal with everything else. Not like anyone's happy with them, wanting answers and everything… no more with them, yeah.” ****  
** **

“If they have anything more to say, they’ll know just where to find us,” Connor remarked, almost sullenly, but not without a measure of relief. “If - you’re okay with the arrangement as it stands, Lieutenant.” ****  
** **

“Course I am. Why wouldn't I be?” With that, Hank raised an eyebrow at the three of them, before his expression softened again. “Not like I have anyone else to give that attic out to, huh?” ****  
** **

That was it? Not even a bit of concern that CyberLife might turn up at his door someday, looking to reclaim its lost property? ****  
** **

Knowing there was little chance of Dennis or Nick broaching the subject, Connor supposed the unsavory job fell to him - again. ****  
** **

“Forgive me for saying so, then, Lieutenant, but as a recovering… xenophobe, it seems like a big change for you to commit to. I’m only trying to discern if you have any… reservations.” ****  
** **

Once again, his partners may have been welcomed with open arms, but Connor would be fooling himself if he didn’t acknowledge he had a lot of ground to make up for in Hank’s eyes. ****  
** **

“No, kid, I don't have any reservations about you three livin’ here. Trust me, I know how it seems, but I ain't about to suddenly change my mind again.” Hank shrugged again, seemingly trying to leave it at that. ****  
** **

Much as Connor wanted to believe it was true, life was never that simple. He couldn’t just assume that was it. He was deviant, not naïve. ****  
** **

“Why? Not even two months ago, you would’ve sooner left us on your doorstep than offered room and board.” ****  
** **

And by _us_ the android neatly skirted around saying _me_ . ****  
** **

“Ah, shit… okay, if you three really wanna know…” Trailing off, Hank crossed his arms, keeping quiet for a moment, before begrudgingly starting again. “Okay, uh, the fact is I - I had a son. His name was Cole, and he didn't - there was an accident. On the road, a few years ago. Truck skidded through an icy intersection, rolled us over, and they couldn't save him at the hospital.” ****  
** **

Nick stilled at the new information, hands stopping their natural fidgeting in favor of being simply held clasped at his chest, eyes wide at Hank. His mouth opened, as if to say something, before closing again when nothing seemed to come to him. ****  
** **

Dennis stood even more motionless, seeming to freeze as if he had abruptly lost power. His breathing cycle actually halted, eyes up and locked as if fixating on a target, appreciating it for a whole new reason. ****  
** **

Ever in contrast, Connor blinked and did the math. “And that’s what we remind you of. The hospital you went to, they tried to save him. But that weekend had seen several car wrecks. No human surgeon was available to operate.” ****  
** **

“No human surgeon could operate because they were too high on red ice to even fuckin’ see straight.” Expression hardening, Hank's fists balled up at the memory, before he seemingly forced himself to relax, as much as he could. “That's why Cole died. Listen, it's not right, but I blamed androids for that for a long time. And with what happened with my - brothers. Lots of bad shit, androids just happened to be involved.” ****  
** **

Just happened to be. Androids were as commonplace as humans. There was no getting away from - ****  
** **

“Your brothers?” Connor repeated the words impulsively, before realizing just what he had said, and apparently overlooked. “Since… when did - ” ****  
** **

Dennis cut off the halting, ill-formed sentence with a scoff. Somehow, he managed to make it sound gentle. “Damn. That explains it all for me.” ****  
** **

“Huh. Least one of you gets it. They were, uh, lost - at sea, on a fishin’ trawler, a few years before Cole. Androids made up most of the crew, and ‘course my brothers weren't… made it easier for me to blame them, then deal with it.” ****  
** **

It certainly explained the lack of press. But not a conspicuous pack of evidence around Anderson’s home. ****  
** **

Connor frowned, glancing sidelong at the one picture still standing on the kitchen table - the same one they had spent the whole evening evading. ****  
** **

“But… I don’t understand. Why would you involve yourself in our affairs, if you blamed our kind? We remind you of them, all of them, that much, why not just… let it devolve?” ****  
** **

Because, whatever the odds, that was where they would have ended up. Best case scenario meant his partners would be dead, and he himself deactivated, job done. ****  
** **

Wasn’t it just the kind of thing Hank would relish to see happen to a trine like them? ****  
** **

“You need me to spell it out for you, Connor? I wasn't about to let you all destroy yourselves and each other, not the way I did, not the way my brothers did.” Hank looked away from them for a moment, looking like he was debating with himself, before finding more words with an even heavier sigh. “I think it's fair to say that you all remind me of people I don't have anymore. But that doesn't mean we can't… be like that.” ****  
** **

Realization seeming to dawn on him, Nick nodded at Hank, eyes somehow going even wider. “That - that makes sense to me. We can be like that… I want to be like that.” ****  
** **

Replacements. ****  
** **

As much as he wanted to say so, then and there, that there was no way they could ever replace those Anderson had lost, Connor thought twice of saying anything. It was what Hank evidently wanted, and what Nick has just admitted to. Dennis probably wasn’t far behind in declaring his affirmation, either. ****  
** **

Outvoted, three to one, he would’ve only seemed even more sour and resentful for not accommodating them. Being a stick in the mud may have been what he was good at. But there was no reason to resist anymore. No faceless corporate overlords to please. No overseer intelligence program to satisfy. No falsified greater good to try and preserve. ****  
** **

There was just them and Hank. It may not seem like much at the moment, but it was more than they would have if they just up and left. They couldn’t do that to him, not after all the attention and lessons he had provided in an attempt to make them feel more at ease in a world that only ever seemed to resent and ostracize androids as a whole. ****  
** **

Spelling it out made it no easier to understand, but they could start to accept it was what it was. ****  
** **

Going it alone after cutting ties seemed altogether scarier. Maybe there was something to it. They may not be able to make the world a better place, but they could for each other. A new directive imposed by no one save themselves. ****  
** **

Secretly, Connor kinda liked the sound of it. ****  
** **

Dennis, who could always be counted on to think twice as fast, scoffed again, catching sight of the taller android’s near-bashful half smile. Without as much ceremony, he leaned over and gave his (adopted) sibling a bodily shove from behind. “Just get in there and hug him already, you wuss. We know you want one.” ****  
** **

Stumbling forward, given no chance to reconsider, Connor found himself saved from faceplanting onto the floor by Hank’s reflexes. The man caught him around the shoulders with both hands, paused for only a flustered moment, then scoffed (affectionately) and pulled him into a proper embrace. ****  
** **

“There. That’s what you’re so afraid of, all along?” ****  
** **

Eyes round, raised hands held half-pinned to his torso, Connor froze. Maybe at one time he was. And doubly so if someone like Anderson ever thinking it proper to bestow this treatment. ****  
** **

Trepidous as it seemed, he made no move to push the policeman away. ****  
** **

“Huh. Guess that's the best I can hope for right now, eh, no protestin’? We'll graduate you to an actual hug someday.” With that, Hank shook his head exaggeratedly, before lifting one arm slightly to gesture to Dennis and Nick, beckoning them closer. “Hey, I'll give you all this one free pass for a group hug. C'mere, kids.” ****  
** **

_Free pass?_ Connor repeated, effectively puzzled. ****  
** **

Had this happened once already? During his absence? ****  
** **

Dennis spared him no more of an explanation than gripping on with one arm wound around each of them. The top of his head wedged itself against Connor’s shoulder. ****  
** **

_Yeah, free. The rest of ‘em, we’re gonna have to earn._ ****  
** **

_I'm sure we will. They're too good to not try to._ Nick squeezed himself onto the other side of Hank, one arm automatically going around Dennis and Connor, the other around the human who instigated the hug in the first place. ****  
** **

“Thanks for… everything, really,” Nick mumbled, looking up appreciatively at Hank from his curled over position. “For it all. Thanks… Dad.” ****  
** **

“Ah, shit,” With that, Hank swallowed harshly, arms automatically squeezing around them harder at the new title officially given to him. Or, given to him for a second time. Much as he apparently tried to brush it off, in the moment, there was a detectable note of approval beneath. “Yeah, no problem, all of you. …Guess that makes two new dads, huh? Me _and_ Sumo.” ****  
** **

Maybe it served to make the moment somehow less daunting. ****  
** **

Connor was positive he heard the very soft snap of three sets of optics opening at once. It was closely followed by a unanimous utterance of surprise over the commlink, at the exact same volume, with identical timing: ****  
** **

_Wait, what?_ ****  
** **

Three out of three. ****  
** **

Finally.


End file.
